The other day my bowl broke.
It was simple bowl. Black, deep with no ornate decoration or even a glossy finish to make it flashy or even eye catching in the slightest. It was utilitarian in purpose and design. I found it to be reminiscent of Asian tableware with it steeply sloping sides which was appealing to me in many ways.
The manner in which it broke was of spectacular display of folly or attempted acrobatics. It simply fell from atop a stack of things in my arms as I came home from school ready to go to bed and impatient to get everything put away. I had had a bad feeling all day concerning the fate of my bowl. Then the final moment came with the shattering of pottery on my driveway.
I know this seems to be of no great importance nor consequence, but one must understand the history behind any object to know its significance.
You see this was not a bowl I had purchased for myself. I had received it as a Christmas gift a couple of years earlier from my sister. She told me she had looked for a gift I would not want to return, so she gave me a mug, a bowl and food (an excellent gift for any man). Her goal was achieved.
Since then I have used this bowl many times to enjoy curry, cereal and ice cream. I was even annoyed to find my roommate using my bowl. I started to hand wash it and keep it sequestered away from the rest of the dishes, so it would remain for me.
As it fell, I saw the first and only meaningful gift from my sister shatter into oblivion. The prang of lost resonated in my heart. Dread filled me as I thought of how to inform her. Those of you who know her can guess how she reacted. Yeah, just like that.
I know I can go to the very same store and buy many more of the same kind of bowl of many different colors to match my mood or even color coordinate with my meal, but no other bowl would have the same meaning as MY BOWL.
Alas, I must live on knowing that this chapter of my life is now over. *SOB*
1 comment:
Question, which sister was it???
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