I got the little bunny in 2015, right before I left for Canada. It was from IKEA in Beijing. I’d gone there just to pick up some everyday stuff—dish sponges, cups, storage boxes, that kind of thing. Then I saw this gray bunny on the shelf. Honestly, I thought it was so ugly it was cute. It didn’t have much practical use, but it was soft, and it kind of looked like it was silently watching you, like it could almost talk. Oh, and it had this little white belly and floppy, pointy ears. I thought, "Okay, you can squeeze into my suitcase, I guess." And so, this IKEA gray bunny flew across the Pacific with me, traveling from Beijing to Calgary. Winters in Alberta are freezing, the kind that makes you shiver down to your bones. On those endless, snowy days when you couldn’t step outside, that soft little bunny became my best companion. Having it on my pillow in my rented bedroom brought a tiny bit of comfort, like a piece of home. Life in Calgary was simple for the two years I lived there, and I made a lot of good friends. After finishing school, I decided to move and start somewhere new. So, the gray bunny and I packed up and left the Rockies, heading to Toronto. It was small, didn’t take up any space, so even though I ended up moving 3 more times in the years that followed, the bunny was always with me—tucked away in my suitcase or a cardboard box, moving from one place to the next. Over time, I sold a bunch of my things to lighten the load—like books, a juicer, scarves—but I never once thought about letting go of the bunny. Every time I saw it, it was like it was still frozen in that moment back on the IKEA shelf, just staring at me, almost speaking. Then one time, during another move, I remember putting the bunny into a tote bag with some magazines and accessories. But somehow, that bag got lost. I don’t even know how it happened—maybe it got left behind in some corner because it didn’t stand out, or maybe the movers mistook it for trash. The bunny just... disappeared. Like it had wandered off and was never found again. After that, I stopped casually buying stuffed animals or collectible things. If I did buy something, I’d make sure it could survive a move—safe and secure. Sometimes, I still think back to that morning in Toronto when I packed the bunny into that tote bag. That was the last time I saw it. Now, I like to imagine that maybe a neighbor picked it up, and the bunny ended up on some child’s nightstand, keeping them company instead. Looking back, I think the bunny taught me a few things—like being mindful of what you take with you on your journeys and double-checking everything during a move. On a deeper level, though, the bunny was a witness to those years of my life. Even though it’s lost now, it feels like a thread connecting different times and spaces, weaving together all those scattered memories of mine.