You probably saw me sitting on the ledge outside the cafe in Valletta and saw an easy target. A girl, alone, her bag and camera beside her, not paying attention to her surroundings.
I was distracted looking at my phone, trying to sort out something with my bill -- stressed over something that now seems so silly and inconsequential, but I digress. The key point is, I wasn't paying enough attention, and that's when you must have struck. I will give you this much: you must have been very skilled to snatch up my camera undetected. It wasn't until I had sat down in the cafe, eagerly searching for my camera to show my friend my photos from the day that I had even realized it was missing. And then came the panic. I stood up, swearing, frantically searching around, digging through my massive purse, feeling around for the hard, heavy, wonderfully familiar shape of my camera. But quickly, the reality set in. It was gone.
I don't know who you are. I don't know why you took my camera. But you don't know me either. Though perhaps you have learned a bit about me from flicking through my recently taken shots. Perhaps you have concluded that I love cats -- as evidenced by the many photos of cats leisurely lounging around by the docks that I had to climb down treacherous stone steps to find. Just earlier that afternoon, I had wandered around the rocky coastline, giving friendly 'hellos' to the aging, wind-weathered sailors peeking out of their windows as I snapped away. I felt proud to have found such a beautiful and serene setting just off of the beaten track. But I will never be able to share those memories in the same vivid colour that I experienced them in, because they're in your hands now. I wonder if you could tell how hard I had fallen for the city of Valletta. I wonder if that was obvious from the way that I intently documented every charming alleyway, every colourfully-painted door, and every possible angle I could find of the sparkling, turquoise sea. Or perhaps you wiped my card clean, without ever having looked at them.
Perhaps this city has not been as kind to you as it was to me, before you entered the picture. Perhaps that's why you felt the need to take something that was not yours. Maybe you will never know the joy and excitement I feel in my heart when I am exploring a new city, camera in hand. You will probably never understand the magnitude of what you have taken away from me. My photos are my art and my expression. They're my story. It saddens me to my core to know that I will never be able to share or look back through these small, beautiful moments from my first ever solo trip. It saddens me to know that my experience will forever be tainted by one selfish act by some faceless individual. I will never be able to look back on this trip without thinking "What if I had just sat inside to wait for my friend? What if I had just kept my camera around my neck?" These 'what ifs' will haunt me.
I will never know your story, but I pity you. I am lucky enough to have a family who loves me. Parents who comfort me when I'm in a crisis, who tell me they LOVE me in capital letters when I email to tell them what happened, and tell me to keep my eye out for used cameras because my 25th birthday is coming up. Parents that have taught me that it's not right to steal from others. I'm lucky to have a boyfriend who offers to call me right away and console me from work. Friends who send me their love and good vibes via WhatsApp message. I'm lucky enough to have met a kind friend at the hostel who patiently stuck by me through my breakdown and ran out of a vegan restaurant with me to file a police report. Maybe you've never known this kind of support. Maybe that's why you steal things from girls sitting alone outside of cafes. Whoever you are, I feel sorry for you.
I am heartbroken by your actions, and feel ashamed to have let this happen. I am wiping away tears as I write this. But I will not let you ruin my trip. I will not let you ruin Malta for me. You can take away my photos, you can wipe the card clean, but you can't erase my memories. I met a kind and gentle old man with three tiny birds in a cage. He had brought the cage down to the stone wall overlooking the sea to give his tiny friends some sun. He let me take photos of his birds, exchanged pleasantries with me and wished me a nice holiday. I have chatted with friendly people from all over the world, crammed together by chance in my hostel, people who don't speak English but will share their popcorn with a Canadian stranger. I have eaten vegan truffles, drank many cups of coffee, and had conversation over pints of Maltese beer. I have laughed as the wind whipped my hair around, struggling to get a decent photo in front of the majestic azure window. I have lived.
So go ahead. Sell my camera on Craigslist, or Gumtree, or the local pawn shop. I hope you really needed that money. I hope that someday, you won't have to resort to such desperate measures to make ends meet. You will get a nice hefty sum of cash, and I will have learned to be more cautious. You don't get to be the only one who takes something away from this.
I will return home tomorrow with a lighter bag and a heavier heart, but with a renewed perspective. In the end, things are just things. Maybe you haven't learned that lesson yet. Maybe you have -- as I've said, I don't know who you are. But I know who I am, and I know that I am very fortunate. I'm safe and healthy, I have a warm home to return to, I have people that I care about, and who care about me in return. And I know that the most important things are the ones that can't be stolen out of a handbag on the street. The things that you will never take away from me.
-- C
