In 2.5 years of round-the-world travel to many countries where muggings are commonplace, I never once had anything stolen. I was never held at gunpoint. I was never robbed. The situations where things got a bit hairy were ones I chose to be a part of: climbing Putucusi with a busted rib, hopped up on diclofenac; taking a rickety boat through the Sumbawa straight with nary a lifejacket in sight; sticking it out in Bangkok while the city tore itself asunder; perching myself precariously atop a minivan barrelling across Indonesia with a goat in my lap. With the exception a fleece in Bolivia and a few errant socks, I never lost anything at all.
Until I came back to the States.
Yesterday evening, Craig’s apartment was robbed in Brooklyn. He lost his laptop and camera and expensive DSLR lenses and a slew of other belongings. I lost my new MacBook Pro (my birthday present to myself) and my Canon G9. I had a lot of personal information on the laptop – invoices with my bank number, blog posts, journal entries. They also took all the hard-earned money from my summer of stoop sales – $1500 in cash that I was going to deposit today. But worst of all, they took my 500GB backup hard drive, my netbook with another backup of my photos and my 32GB flash card with the 3rd backup of my photos. All of these were in different places in the apartment, and all are gone.
I’m angry. I’ve been watching my pennies this summer and was happy to have made some extra money downsizing my belongings. But the worst of it all is the loss of my memories – they took handwritten Moleskines full of notes from Burma and all of my photos. With the exception of a flash drive I found on the floor with my photos from Burma and Cambodia, I’ve lost everything. I have the blog and photo galleries, but all of the full resolution pictures are gone, as are all the photos I never uploaded to any gallery.
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