A broken cup
I broke a cup—a mug—this morning. I was careless and clumsy. The cup got knocked off to the carpet, and as it had been showing some signs of weakness along some lines, it broke apart along those lines.
This wouldn’t be worth a post if it was just any other cup. Or any other object. I break stuff all the time. That’s just what I do.
This cup was special. I had received it as a gift from one of my favorite high school teachers—I was in her ELD class only for first few months, but somehow I stayed in touch and was involved with her classes and department until I graduated—and if I am counting the years right, it had lasted 7 or 8 years of being with me. I brought it with me when I moved into Clark Kerr Campus as a freshman, and I always had it with me somewhere wherever I considered to be “home”.
And now that cup is gone—or at least, broken.
I am at a crossroad, and I am trying to convince myself that I should take this … omen as a sign that I need to cut all my ties to my old high school.
This thought had been with me ever since I graduated from high school. I had such an absolutely horrible senior year—I won’t go into details but let me just say that I felt completely mistreated and unappreciated by the school officials … I even regretted the decision I made as a sophomore not moving to a magnet school when I was given the chance—that I vowed never to let that high school claim me as one of their own.
But as I mulled that over in last 6 years, there was always some ambivalence in my heart. After all, I didn’t hate everyone at that high school. I did like the two teachers with whom I had close contact and who have been great sources of support during hard times. But logically, if I want to ensure that this high school could not claim me as one of their own, I needed to cut my ties with everyone and everything related to this school—and that had to include the two favorite teachers. And although I haven’t kept in touch in years, I have never made a conscious decision to cut my ties and contacts with them. So far.
I think this broken cup represents the decision I need to make. I need to cut my ties to my past, so that I can forget and move past the incident. The lines of contact need to be broken—either deliberately or by accident.
Well, for now, the cup is in four pieces that can be re-assembled with a good glue—it was a clean break with few small pieces falling out. As I ponder over whether to accept the sign of the broken cup and move on, for now, I am leaving it taped up (so it’ll hold no water) on my bookshelf. When I am ready, I will get rid of the shards—or, when I change my mind, I will glue them together.