I’m flipping through the daily newspaper as I finish my breakfast of cereal and milk, getting ready for another day of final exams. As I fold the front page closed, my eyes briefly rest on the familiar ads printed on the paper’s last page. HAVE YOU SEEN ME? is printed in bold black type, and underneath the large letters are small, black-and-white photographs of smiling children. These are children who are missing, who have been missing for many, many years. Each ad has the child’s name, date they went missing, and a rendition of what they might look like now. I normally don’t pay much attention to these ads, but today I couldn’t stop my eyes from tracing each child’s face. Where are they now? I thought. Do they still smile like they do in these photos? What about their families? I couldn’t even imagine the agony their parents must feel: Is my child alive? If so, where are they? Will I ever be able to see them again? I myself get anxious when my mom is five minutes late picking me up from school; what if she never came? What if I never knew where she was? The families of these children are forever unsure, forever waiting for news or a phone call from their missing children. I can’t even imagine how hard it would be to continue on with normal life with that anxiety and impatience for news regarding the life and location of your child. It hurts me to know that these children are missing and these families are trapped in unknown. I want to find these children and return them to their homes, but I know that’s nearly impossible. So I fold up the newspaper and leave for my final exams, all the while wondering, have I seen them?