NYAC | 3min Read
Published on May 7, 2026
LOST JACKET
LOST JACKET
I ran across the lobby a minute before closing to give back the form.
The lost and found form.
The lost-and-found form said:
Object Description: Blue jacket. Slightly faded. Three inside pockets. One front pocket.
That’s all that was written.
But it wasn’t just a jacket.
My mom said,
“Never mind. Save up and buy a new one.”
But you can’t just replace things like that.
It made me feel like something.
It was special in a way only I understood.
It’s been through everything with me, my losses, my wins.
It smelled like comfort. It wasn’t superstition; It was my sidekick.
The three inside pockets carried my coveted adornments.
The smallest of the three contained my favourite pen, the one that knew everything because its ink is
what I used to write down the deepest thoughts, even the ones I couldn’t say out loud.
And inside that pen, though no one knew, was a safety pin holding the body together. Just in case it
cracked.
The biggest pocket of the three contained a list of things I hoped to achieve as I grew older.
The checkered paper had creases running through it. And taped to it, a small paper crown.
The one in between contained the shiniest rock I could find while I ran my first 5k. I found it lying on
the gravel from the race. Standing out as physical proof that I didn’t stop.
There was a large front pocket on the left side of the jacket.
The Front Pocket was the brave one.
It was the pocket that was exposed to wind, sun and rain. And rarely the washing machine and the
detergent.
It contained a Kinder Joy toy. Smooth plastic, bright colours. Manufactured joy closed in foil.
It used to be the best part of the treat
Now it was just marketing.
The toy in the front pocket wasn’t my favourite. It was just the one that was the cleanest.
That pocket carried what survived being seen.
It carried the version of me that had been rinsed, wrung out, and ironed flat.It was presentable and polished.
The inside pockets held what felt like me.
The front pocket held what didn’t cause questions.
That’s why losing it didn’t feel material.
It wasn’t about the buttons or the gold zipper that shut the pockets.
I didn’t want to give up so easily.
It felt like the part of me that was learning how to grow up, slowly and a little unwillingly.
So I searched.
Searched everywhere, my house, the School, the doctor, the infirmary.
When I had almost gotten over the loss of it,
When I had taught myself to stop thinking about it constantly,
When I had stopped imagining scenarios of finding it,
The doorbell rang.
A parcel lay on the wooden floor.
On the floor where I stood for the past 13 years, waiting for someone to open the door.
My name was written carefully across the front.
In handwriting that didn’t follow lines.
No return address.
No explanation.
Inside was my blue jacket!!!
Folded more neatly than I ever had.
I smiled to myself, ear to ear, as I put it back on.
Object Description: Blue jacket.
Slightly faded.
Still mine.
Losing it was to let me realise
I was the one who made that jacket special.
