The Man Who Lost His Precious Treasure

"Sir, have you seen my most precious treasure? I seem to have dropped it somewhere..."

"Sir, can you help me find my most precious treasure? I don't seem to remember where I last put it."

"Ma'am, would you please help me search for something?"

"Anyone? Please? I really really need this treasure..."

"Help me... Please?"



Out in the streets, in front of my little homely apartment unit I share with three strangers, there's a boy; a very young boy, maybe ten, eight at the youngest. He looks like he's not from around here; or more precisely, he probably doesn't live in this neighborhood, it seems. He stays outside almost the whole day, but mysteriously disappears around evening, right before people begin to call it a day, only to reappear again the following morning, always doing the same thing, asking the same questions.

"Could anyone please help me search for my precious treasure?"

I'm a factory worker, or, well, used to be a factory worker -- I got fired four days ago. I had been planning on moving out sometime soon, maybe move back in with my parents. My savings are about to run dry, and without any reliable source of cash, there really hasn't been much of a choice. The bills, the rent, food and potable water; it's amazing how fast one's basic necessities can burn up one's cash. I haven't told my roommates about this yet, I reckon they'd be pissed when I do; we divide the rent equally among ourselves, but I often end up paying a lion's share of it -- on an indefinite promise that they'd pay me back the next rent. In fact, I haven't really told anybody about this yet; call it pride, call it denial, call it anything you want, I just couldn't.

"Ma'am, can you spare some time for me please? I just really need to find something, please?"

The boy had been a welcome distraction the past days. I hadn't seen him before I got fired, probably because I was at work for the better part of the day. I normally leave last among the tenants of this mediocre apartment unit, cleaning out the trash of whatever last night's revelry was, and would arrive before anyone else, sleeping early to avoid any shenanigans my pad-mates are wont to indulge themselves in. You could say I'm sort of like a housekeeper, but I don't really pride in the fact.

"Sir, have you seen my treasure? Sir? Wait! Please don't leave!"

It's about living in the present, so they say, but getting by the present takes more effort than living itself. The factory doesn't exactly pay well, the benefits are far and few in between, but it puts food on the table. And its worrying about tomorrow's table that had made me unable to live in the today, I just can't; the moment I do, I fear I won't have anything to eat or drink for tomorrow, and the day after that. So you end up just swallowing whatever shit the day throws at you, hoping that tomorrow would be better, but already knowing -- expecting -- that it won't.

"Hey, can you hear me? Please? Anyone?"

The boy seems so desperate. At least he has something to live for. Still, he should probably just give up. There's no way anyone would pay him any attention; a young kid, barely old enough to be running around on his own, looking for a fantastical "precious treasure"? No one would seriously pay attention to that kind of misbehavior. That kind of bullshit. There's just no way. He's just wasting his time.

"Ma'am, ma'am! Wait! Ma'am! I just want to ask you something! Please?"

I wonder what my father would think of me. I've been a failure. He enrolled me in a decent school, worked his ass off just to see me through, and where am I now? A factory worker turned jobless piece of trash. Maybe that's why I'm too afraid to tell anybody about my predicament; I don't want to be judged. And yet, all the more do I deserve to be; what have I done to change my situation anyway? I've always just accepted the fact that there is only one way to where I need to go, and this does not go where I want to go. Wake up, eat, work, sleep; those were the only steps to this merciless path, anything outside that is frivolous and unnecessary. Anything outside that would lead you no where. Risks are only for those who can afford it, and I can't.

"Sir, ma'am! Have you seen my precious treasure around here somewhere? Have you? Oh, have you?"

The boy. He's beginning to get in my nerves, spouting the same nonsense everyday. Can't he just see that there's no way he can find his precious treasure, if it even exists? I bet this precious treasure of his is some toy he'd seen on TV, or some stupid imaginary thing he thought of and thinks is real! I bet his precious treasure doesn't really exist; a figment of his imagination. A fake. Fantasy. Fiction! He should just go and do something productive and concrete -- the factory doesn't hire kids like him, but he can at least work as an errand boy in some local deli! That way, he could earn himself some cash, rent an apartment with three strangers and live peacefully, just like everybody else.

He should just give up.



"Sir. Sir! Can you help me find my precious treasure?"

"Precious treasure? Well, I'm not really sure what you mean, can you tell me more about it?"

"Hmmm... It's really really big, really really bright and really colorful too! I can't really say what it is, but it's something really really important to me, and I seem to have lost it a few days ago. Will you help me find it sir?"

"Sure... Let's find this treasure together... What's your name little guy?"

But I already know. I had known all along...