I lost my phone today while playing in the snow. One moment I was laughing, present, full of good energy, convinced it would be a beautiful day … and the next, panic.

Not because I'm addicted to my phone, but because it holds my life: contacts, bank access, emails, memories. Losing it felt like losing my sense of safety.

My classmates searched with me. Some out of politeness, others with real intention. From 1:00 p.m. until 4:30 p.m., we looked everywhere. One student from another class kept scanning the ground even after everyone else stopped, even after I returned to lessons.

And in the middle of all this, something unexpected happened.

I felt calm.

A quiet certainty whispered inside me: *I will find it.*

But as time passed, I realized this wasn't really about a phone.

It was about watching who searches when something is lost. Who keeps looking without being asked. Who stays when it becomes inconvenient.

That's when a painful, honest thought appeared — one that surprised me with its clarity.

I'm jealous of my phone. I wish someone would look for *me* the way they looked for it.

I wasn't physically lost. I was surrounded by people. And yet, inside my own mind, I felt lost — lost in thoughts, lost in questions, lost in the habit of carrying everything alone.

I wanted to go outside and scream for help.

Not because I'm weak. But because needing support doesn't make us fragile — it makes us human.

I kept wondering what would happen if people truly knew who we are, beyond the polite smiles and automatic "I'm fine." Maybe we don't let ourselves be found because being seen feels more frightening than being invisible.

And yet, despite the fear and uncertainty, the day remained beautiful.

Losing my phone created conversations, moments, unexpected connections. Ironically, what I lost reminded me that I exist beyond what I carry in my hands.

I don't want to lose myself inside my own thoughts. I don't want to silence my need for support. And I don't want strength to mean loneliness.

If you've ever felt lost while standing among people, you're not broken.

You're becoming aware.

And maybe that awareness is where being found begins.