I wonder if I was a missing person case?
Sometimes, I wonder if I was a missing person case. How would the detectives find my life to be? They would go through my stuff and try to find clues to get to know me better with so many things they could find in my room.
They would see a room filled with motivational quotes, handmade cards and a big shelf filled with books. They would search each and every book trying to find if there was any secret hidden in it. Or maybe they would try to understand what kind of person I was with the collection I have. Harry Potter, Mortal Instruments, Hush Hush, Anna Dressed in Blood & so many fantasy books. They would find a collection of action figures. Batman, Captain America, Stormtrooper, Minions, and some others. They might see me as a girl who is obsessed with fictional stories.
They will find a small journal with 4–5 Polaroid photos in it. The photos which were the highlights of my life. The graduation day photo in which I was smiling happily at the camera in my navy blue gown at home. The other one in which I was standing at the airport with my red luggage suitcase. The first international trip. The other ones with my family. All those happy face pictures. Would they perceive me as a happy person? The girl who had been privileged enough to lead a normal life? The girl who didn’t have any reason to run away on her own?
On my desk space, they would find a silver colour laptop. Oh gosh! It would reveal so much about me. It will turn on with a beautiful wallpaper of Italy street, the place which I have always wished to see. The folders would reveal my world of imagination, ambitions and unfulfilled dreams. Drafts of written scripts. Pitches for fiction films. Filled applications for grants and opportunities. Scholarship applications. Portfolio files. My short films. Designed posters. Designed logos. Templates for editing. Templates for PowerPoint. Numerous jpegs of photography work.
I wonder what would they think of me if they checked my Gmail. Countless cold emails were sent to well-known artists, production houses, directors and film festivals. A pile of rejection. A pile of unreplied emails. Would they see me as a crazy girl who overdid it? A girl who was trying every bit of luck in her life. A girl desperate enough to get this much busy in trying? A girl who spent her life checking her inbox every hour to see if she has got a new email that will change her transform her life completely.
They might try to look at my social media. They will open an already logined-in Facebook tab on my browser. Facebook………. The one I have been using since my school days. A place where I used to connect with people but now it is just an empty place for me. It has gotten barren now. But it still holds value for me. It is a reflection of my past. The inbox is still filled with messages from the 2013 timestamp. A nostalgic place I go to sometimes to see my teenage self to realise how far I have come. Will the strangers at my house will see me that way?
One of the detectives might speak loudly…..suddenly……The one who is still browsing my bookshelf. He has found something. Something which I meant to tear apart at one moment in my life. But I didn’t. My “diary”.
The one I used for writing my personal thoughts occasionally. The one filled with a few pages but still holds my deepest and saddest thoughts. The one in which I have stopped writing for more than two years now. I intentionally wrote in it with bad handwriting so that no one could read it easily. I am not saying that I ever had good handwriting. But I did write in my diary like a crazy girl who is jotting down whatever has come to her mind. The unreadable handwriting. But I am sure detectives will be able to decipher it.
Would they see me as a depressed and lonely girl by reading my thoughts in my diary? But the last entry I wrote was in 2021. Maybe they would assume that things must have gotten better. Or would they assume that it never did? Like I am still that girl who doubts herself all the time.
They might try to see if there is any clue hidden there, to conclude if I disappeared intentionally. They won’t find any anonymous love letters that will give them that a clue that I ran away with a guy. Neither they would conclude that I have any enemies. The only enemy in my life had been my inner voice.
They will only have these snippets of my life in these inanimate objects that reveal a little too much about myself. I get curious sometimes, wondering what would these strangers in my room think of me if I were a missing person case.
