ON WHAT I NEVER EXPECTED TO FIND

THE QUIET ART OF LOSING

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What I know for sure is that I’ve never had a calmer or more uncomplicated travel day.

My body woke me up even before my alarm went off. It’s 6 in the morning.

A good 4 hours of sleep deprivation.

It feels oddly normal. It helps to be numb, I guess. The brain serves us in mysterious ways.

A guy lost the keys to his apartment trying to get back inside. A couple, wasted on their way home from a night out. All of us moving through the same streets, carrying completely different stories. And somewhere in between them, there was me.

A very normal girl in green pants, on her way to the airport.

Not feeling. Not crying. Just grieving.

She knows that if she allows her thoughts to come back, they would swallow her. She wouldn't be able to walk or make it to the airport in time. She has to push through. She knows that.

What nobody tells you about following your dreams is that you never truly know what's waiting for you on the other side.

There are always these loud voices telling you that bravery will pay off. That everything will be worth it. That the bigger the risk, the bigger the reward.

Well, let me tell you - sometimes the biggest risk leaves the biggest scar. That’s a truth I have to learn to live with.

I had faced the biggest loss of my life so far. My cute little fluffy companion, who had been by my side for five years, following me like my own shadow, travelling to more countries than some people ever will, was suddenly taken away from me. From one day to the next. In the city where I wanted us to create a new chapter.

He had been there through every single step. He kept me company on the train, during the flight, and on our big new terrace close to heaven.

And then, one morning, I woke up and didn’t feel his presence anymore. I knew something had shifted. I still haven’t found a way to fully understand or grasp what happened, even though I seem to know the whole story now. I miss him and think about him every day.

The search lasted two days. And I only realised how traumatic it had actually been when my best friend pointed it out. I was constantly switching between survival mode and anxious panic. The only thing my body wanted to do was cry and fall apart, but my brain wouldn’t allow it.

There was only me. I had to function. I had to keep it together.

Let’s break it down - it was terrible.

All of it.

I’ll spare you the details.

There’s a belief that I’ve been holding on to for far too long (that’s what I know now):

I won't trust you until you prove me wrong.

I also know many people who believe the exact opposite. They trust first until you give them a reason not to. I always admired those people. I admired their ability to move through life with an open heart, seemingly ready for whatever pain might come. Or maybe they simply don’t focus on that part as much.

Because I always thought that if you give people the benefit of the doubt, if you trust that they are good and trustworthy, you will automatically put yourself in a compromising position.

You make yourself easy to hurt.

And while I’ve never experienced anything close to what I experienced recently, I know now that I have never been more dependent on the acts of strangers.

I had no other choice. I could either give up, or I could step outside and ask random people for help.

I couldn’t care less about my swollen eyes or my cracked voice. My messy hair or the sweaty T-shirt I wore all day in the beautiful 38-degree sunshine.

I started printing flyers, hanging them up around my building, ringing neighbours’ doorbells, running stairways up and down to every surrounding terrace. Walking, talking, calling his name again and again, while a part of me knew that this might already be hopeless. Hope was my best friend and my worst enemy.

And in the middle of all this chaos I was stunned by the honest and selfless acts of kindness that surrounded me.

People didn’t just listen to me - they cared.

I watched their eyes soften, their body language changed. They became less guarded and leaned in closely so they could understand me better. Almost every single person offered to help in whatever way they could.

Some opened their doors to a complete stranger.

Some shared ideas on how to find him.

Some simply passed on the information.

Some put my flyers back up on the walls after the wind had blown them away.

I asked myself:

Is it when we need each other most, when we are vulnerable and hurting, that pain connects us? Is this when we come together again? Beyond our differences, beyond what usually seperates us? No matter our size, colour, faith, age, or gender?

How come that humanity reveals itself most clearly when we are at our least independent?

One man hadn’t seen him or heard anything but he saw my face. He noticed how much I must have cried. And he handed me the orange juice he had just bought for himself. And then he hugged me. Not because he knew me. Not because he had to.

Simply because he saw another human being in pain.

Not to mention the people who made an even bigger impact.

The ones who walked with me to the police station.

The ones who didn't look away.

The angel in human form who found him and tried to save him.

I talked to random people I would probably never have spoken to under normal circumstances. And they helped me so naturally. I realize now how little hesitation there was.

How quickly strangers became allies.

How, in the middle of one of the darkest moments of my life, I found myself surrounded by kindness. And I realized then and there that, all this time, I had hardly allowed myself to connect with people outside of my comfort zone.

After the first day, my sister told me to keep going one step at a time. Day by day. We'll know what to do as soon as we know what to do. And now, almost two weeks have passed.

Grief is a funny thing, and destiny an even funnier one. Ironically, a week before he passed, I asked myself what bigger purpose this new chapter here would serve. Literally. I wrote it down in my little green thought notebook that I carry with me everywhere. And now I almost regret ever writing something like that down.

Like... what the fuck.

I don't think my readiness for change will change. But there's a few things I know now.

I know that I can lose what's most important to me within a second. That jumping into the unknown can mean losing more than I gain. I know that things can end earlier than planned, that I might leave earlier than planned. That things don't work out. At least not the way I wanted them to.

I’m more certain than ever that life has plans I will probably never fully understand. Plans I won’t like. Plans that will hurt me. Plans that will fuck things up real good.

And while I don't even want to use the word but (to not even slightly create the impression that there could be some hidden positive side to this) I know about something else. Something I didn’t expect to find.

I know that my faith in humanity has actually been restored.

I do see the good in random strangers now, even the ones who seem sketchy or, at first glance, untrustworthy. I know my old belief system has been updated. My default setting used to be protective distrust. So let me rephrase it:

I'm choosing to trust in the good within us.

Because it’s there. In most of us. And while I will still protect my peace and keep myself safe, I don't want to judge people simply because I'm afraid they might hurt me.

Because even the two most painful days of my life showed me:

When it truly matters, we come together as humans.