The Lost Girl
By Isabella Kwon
I believe that during times of crisis people can be divided into three categories: the sheeple, the shepherds, and the utterly lost ones. The shepherds are leaders who help guide the general crowd, the sheeple are regular people who follow the crowd, and the lost ones are those with no sense of direction or coordination in these times of chaos.
As much as I am inclined to claim that I would surely be one of the leaders who guide the sheep to safety, I cannot because that is the exact opposite of what I am. If classified into one of the three categories, I would be sorted with the completely and utterly lost. Though I am still young and have not traveled down many paths, I can conclude my position as “lost” due to an experience I had at the age of five. The strong smell of wood and paint still stings my nose when I enter the furniture store worshipped by Asian moms: Ikea. There are three different types of people who go to Ikea: 1) the people who are there to genuinely buy furniture, 2) the people who are there buy food and to get free measuring tape and pencils for a project, and 3) the moms who are there to loiter while their husbands are over at Bestbuy. My mom was type three, and, unfortunately, I was forced to tag along. For the first few minutes, my tomboy self was sluggishly dragging my feet across the floor showing my obvious dislike for looking at bed frames. I would moan and throw myself onto a couch or mattress and stare at the ceiling until my mom moved, at most, a foot away from me. I continued this throughout the store whenever I could find something soft (I had enough sense not to throw myself on wood) until I saw the kid’s section of the store. As most children would do, I forgot that I was in a furniture store, I forgot that I was supposed to stay near my mom, I forgot everything. The only thing on my mind was to get to the toys. This is where my inner lost sheep emerged. As soon as I realized that my mother had not followed me and that she was gone, I began to bawl my eyes out. I could feel the eyes of others boring into me. No one offered me help. I remember letting my imagination run wild. Where would I go? What could I do? I had no room for common sense. When adults tried to help me, I ignored them and continued my pity party. It was later that I realized that I could have gone to any of the workers and asked for help, but my frantic scrambling gave no room for common sense to take over. In Peter Pan, Peter explains to Wendy that there are no Lost girls because they are far too clever to fall out of their prams and stay lost for seven days. Though I hate to admit it, if I were to fall out of my pram, I would most definitely stay lost for seven days. Perhaps I can be the first lost girl and become Wendy’s first female friend in Neverland.