Maybe I should put a trigger warning here?
I washed my plate and mug after a midnight snack. While cleaning the mug, I thought, “What if I just rename my blog to The Depression Outlet or something? It doesn’t look like I’m healing at all. It’s just as if I’m leveraging my depression.”
As I was transferring the mug from the sink to the draining rack, it slipped from my hand, and it broke.
I even think “broke” is not the correct term. Maybe it should be “shattered”? I just blinked, and it fell from my hand. I was so absorbed by the many other things in my mind, apart from that blog name thing. I just heard a high-pitched cracking noise. I realized that my mug was broken.
For a moment, I stared at it. How pathetic. The fall was not even high. It was just almost a handbreadth (around four inches), between my hand and the surface of the countertop.
When I was about to clear the area, I thought, maybe I should take a photo of this, and use as a thumbnail in the future. So, I collected the shards into the bigger mug piece. Ohh, it looks like a glass of crystals. I should definitely take a photo of this. Hence, the thumbnail of this post.
Isn’t it such a good representation? I can write about broken promises, how trust can easily be broken, things that cannot be repaired when ruined, etc. It sparked a lot of ideas. Aren’t these shards of glass such a beautiful sight?
Do I sound weird? Or you’re just normal?
What can I draw from this experience? Ahh, I see. It looks so much like me.
I could have chosen a plastic cup, since I was drinking a cold pineapple juice anyway. I could have spared the use for more important hot drinks. But still, I used this beautiful mug for such a menial work.
I was absorbed in my grand ideas for myself. I thought I was doing the mug a favor because I was cleaning it after I used it. But then, my mind was too far in the clouds, that my beloved mug slipped from my hand and shattered. And when it broke, I wasn’t even fazed. I just stared at it, like it’s no big deal, like there’s nothing to fuss about, that it’s a normal probability that a mug can break during washing the dishes. The next thing I thought was, “How pathetic.”
These shards of glass cannot be reassembled anymore. I cannot bring back the mug anymore. It’s practically dead and useless now. What I can do is to just buy another—a replacement. No matter how beautiful something is, everything is replaceable.
In my long, sad life, I have learned not to dwell on things that will not produce benefit in the future. When I was younger, I even mourned when my capo broke. But now, I even burned bridges and doorslammed a lot of people without feeling remorse at all. If I want to save myself, I should stop investing so much feelings on things. I should be focusing on myself. I should be moving forward quickly—not afraid to lose things along the way.
This mug is so fragile. Well, it wasn’t expensive in the first place. It’s just a cheap product which I just chose to dote on. Now, because of my negligence, it’s no use to me now.
And so, this mug, no matter how much I loved it, it’s all in the past now. You go to rest (trash) now. You are useless now. You are replaceable. Aren’t we all?
Maybe I have become the same evil that I hate.
I am the mug. I am fragile. I am far from the best species. I offered too much, thought so highly of myself. Then suddenly, just a small inconsequential circumstance shattered me to pieces—to no return. Or maybe, I was actually silently trying to escape. Rather than negligence of the holder, maybe I got hurt because I was running away so much. Instead of breaking free, I just died. Now, I am broken. I cannot fix myself. I am worthless now. I have no economic value. I am replaceable. Aren’t we all?
How pathetic.
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