I was allowed to wish for a wristwatch. I chose a simple watch. The dial was bright and the hands were gold, as was the watch case. A brown genuine leather strap went wonderfully with this elegant version of my first chronometer. As often as young people look at their cell phones today, just as often do I look at my watch. The timepiece only showed the time, no messages were received on the round display. I couldn’t take phone calls either. I couldn’t even take photos with the brand new device. And if I forgot to wind the clock with the side wheel, the clockwork just stopped. Despite all of these non-existent features, I loved my humble watch. Countless times during the day I would pull up the sleeve of my shirt to check my watch. Teacher and my father often reprimanded me because it struck them that I was concentrating more on my watch than on what they thought was happening in their teaching. To this day, I basically reject any paternalism in my heart. Nevertheless, I listened to my tutors and endured the unwanted external determination. Don’t look at your watch again, I still hear today when I think of some earlier moments. Then the unexpected happened. I couldn’t see my watch when I looked at my left forearm. I rolled my sleeve back further, no, the watch hasn’t slipped back. The clock was gone. Searching for hours was unsuccessful. Even in the harvested potato field, I couldn’t find my beloved watch. Autumn passed and winter was getting closer. Even my teacher didn’t notice that I stopped looking at my wrist to admire my watch. The lost watch was no longer an issue in my family either. Only I was still suffering from the loss of the utensil that belonged to me. A cold winter was slowly being asked to say goodbye by the first March sun. The spring became more and more common from day to day. Nobody thought of my watch anymore. Even I didn’t think about the no longer there showpiece. The first work in the fields and meadows should be done.

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