The Diary
of
Anne Ku

5 April 2001 Thursday

THE LOST GLOVE

For eleven years, I've been subconsciously searching for a right-hand black leather glove to match my left-hand glove. The original right-hand glove was accidentally left in a taxi in Chicago in December 1990.

No one sells single gloves. To match this antelope leather and fur-lined glove from Teneriffe was even harder still. I had bought this pair on spring holiday in 1987. I had brought my programming assignment with me - and the linked lists spoiled my holiday with my young friend.

I mourned that right-handed glove left behind in Chicago. Initially I blamed myself for being in a rush. Then I blamed the taxi. Finally, I blamed the friend I was visiting. If I hadn't been in Chicago, I may still have that glove now.

In a flea market in Paris in February 1991, I enquired if they sold single gloves. They almost laughed at me. I continued to look in other flea markets, but without asking.

By chance, I noticed that Sasha wasn't wearing any gloves in the Bavarian cold. She replied that she had lost a left-hand glove.

I have finally found that lost glove, by giving up the one I have. Sasha now has a full pair of black gloves, not quite matching, but keeping her warm. And I have let go of a memory that's haunted me for more than a decade.

Yesterday

Tomorrow

The story of the lost glove is similar to the story of the lost love. Or the stolen bicycle. Everywhere you look. So many similarities, but none the same. Then one day, when you least expect it, you find it. Sometimes you have to let it go first.