Back in August, I packed up my little car and drove from Northern CA to Southern CA. My car was packed to the brim with stuff, and as a result, I was forced to leave behind one box of my books at my grandmother's until I could bring them back with me. This past weekend, I drove again back up to Northern California with the intent to bring home these books. I had originally looked for them back in February, after which I came up short and my grandmother suggested I check my mother's house instead.
After frantically searching everywhere for my box of books, I came up short again. I tore through the garage. I looked in the attic. I basically made a mess of boxes in my old bedroom. Nothing.
And then my mother remembered something. They had cleaned my grandmother's garage. They had brought boxes of books to the Salvation Army. And mine probably got lost in the mix.
I didn't really start crying until I got back to San Diego and realized which books were actually missing.
A signed copy of
American Born Chinese. Books, graphic novels and my first ever Art History book, given to me by a
childhood friend with personalized messages on the inside jackets. All my copies of
Owly. A copy of
Good-bye, Chunky Rice, which was ironically my THIRD copy, the other two I had given away. A copy of
Roberto the Insect Architect, bought after my carefree days working at the children's museum and reading it over and over again. A perfect almost never been opened copy of Robert Sabuda and Matthew Reinhart's pop-up book
Sharks. Nowhere to be found.
If you're at the Salvation Army in the South Bay, and you see any books with an inscription to me on the inside front cover, give me a call. I really miss them.