During the Christmas season, the mall was bustling with festive decorations and a wide range of shops. Each shop I entered showcased trendy clothing, iPods, vintage wooden items, and holiday-themed decor. Throughout the mall, Santa Claus could be spotted along with displays of Christmas cards, greetings, floral arrangements, chocolates, teddy bears, and even Santa costumes. Being my first visit to Canada, I greatly enjoyed the brisk weather. The following day, I had plans to pay a visit to my uncle who had relocated there 15 years ago and finally meet my cousins for the very first time.
As I strolled through the mall, I stumbled upon an art store adorned with exquisite paintings that would make a perfect addition to my uncle’s home. Gazing at those artworks reminded me of the money in my wallet that I had diligently saved for two whole years; it was designated specifically for purchasing one as a heartfelt gift for my uncle in hopes of eliciting his joyful response of “Oh! Dear how sweet of you…!”
While daydreaming, a young man of approximately 24 years old, who looked like my older brother, appeared before me. He was dressed as a detective with a black hat and glasses. Suddenly, he interrupted my thoughts and urgently shouted, “stop him, catch him, don’t let him go!” However, he tripped and fell at my feet. I apologized to him and offered to help him up. Surprisingly, he pushed me slightly as he regained his composure and continued running. During this encounter, something brushed against my purse. For a moment, I wondered if all Canadians lacked manners by not saying thank you when someone helps them. Nevertheless,, I quickly dismissed that thought and refocused on buying the painting that had caught my attention earlier and some winter clothing for the cold temperatures in this area. I entered a shop happily and chose the perfect pair of jeans along with winter attire, anticipating purchasing the desired painting next. As I approached the counter eagerly waiting for the bill,
what I saw did not surprise me much since it wasn’t a large amount.
However,
when I checked inside my purse,
I felt even more shocked.The money was missing and the zipper was open. My hope disappeared as I realized the slim possibility of ever finding it.
While immersed in idle thoughts, an individual resembling my elder sibling—a young man around 24 years old—suddenly materialized before me wearing detective attire complete with a black hat and glasses. Startlingly breaking through my reverie, he urgently cried out “stop him, catch him, don’t let him go!” Yet clumsily stumbling over himself at my feet instead of continuing his pursuit. I apologized for his fall and extended my assistance, only to be slightly pushed away as he regained composure and resumed his sprint. In the midst of this incident, my purse felt a light brush. Briefly pondering whether all Canadians were impolite for failing to express gratitude when aided, I swiftly dismissed such thoughts, redirecting my focus towards acquiring both the painting that had captured my interest earlier and some winter garments suitable for these chilly temperatures. Brimming with contentment, I entered a shop where I gleefully selected the perfect pair of jeans accompanied by seasonal apparel, eagerly anticipating purchasing the desired artwork next. Approaching the register with anticipation for the bill,
it came as no great surprise when what I witnessed failed to astonish me due to its insignificance.
However,
upon inspecting my purse’s contents,
I was struck by an even greater shock—the money had vanished and the zipper lay open. My hope faded into nothingness as I realized how slim the chances were of ever recovering it.
