I remember how much fun I had when, as a kid, I participated in the Girl Scout treasure hunts. I felt like an old-school investigator who had to exercise her intelligence and observation skills in order to solve the assigned mystery. I felt like the Latina version of Sherlock Holmes. I would’ve responded easily to the name Sherlocka.
Not only that, but having the vivid imagination of an eight-year-old kid, I imagined and wrote a story of a child who found a treasure at her school grounds in a very unlikely place: the pool. In order to access this treasure, the protagonist (me, who else?) had to dive into the deepest part of the pool, and open a little door on one of the side walls by which she could get to a room lit with torches, and filled with unexpected treasures and antiques.
Where this story came from is a mystery to me. It is as much a mystery how it ends, because I was never committed enough to finishing it. Maybe that’s why I got fixated on treasures and antiques. Who knows! Last week, my fascination for these objects got new wind in its sails: I went to witness a great Treasure Hunt that took place in Goleta.