A broken jar.

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The day i was born, i was given a jar. At first, it was as small and fragile as i was. Everyone was very gentle with it as they were with me. This jar, i was told, was a special jar. In it, i would find space for everything that i held dear to me. I was proud to have my own jar.

As time went by, the jar seemed to grow in size aswell. At first, the jar was filled with things about my mom, my dad and my brother. Sometimes it was bigger than i was because i kept many things there. And then it grew enormously. My sister was born. It doubled in size. I was so happy not because the jar was bigger than ever but because i had space in the jar for her too. I held all of them dear to me and, even though i did not know anything about my sister, it filled my jar instantaneously. So it grew.

As i grew, the jar decreased in size. It wasn’t because i didn’t keep anything there. But because what i’d kept there all these years became the jar itself. So i no longer had need for space for my parents or brother and sister as they were the jar itself. My jar.

Now i could fill the jar with new things, i no longer had this jar reserved for them. And i did so. I filled it with things related to my friends, to what made me happy. It became a very exclusive jar. In fact, most of the time, this jar was off-limits to most. I grew up and with it came the notion of self-preservation. I needed my jar intact. So for a while, nothing went into the jar. It wasn’t empty, no. My friends too, now, were part of the jar. Like my family. A few selected. Sometimes the jar seemed cracked but it could always repair itself. They did it. They healed it for me.

And then one day, the jar filled itself. I can’t explain what happened but it felt too small to harvest all that i was feeling. A girl was to blame. This beautiful, tall, short-haired girl was the culprit. How dare she? With no warning whatsoever, she just took up all the space in my special jar. It felt right, it felt like the jar was meant for her. I was as happy as when i was a small boy.

As time went by, the jar would fill itself more and more. Sometimes it seemed like it would crack. But it didn’t. She was there to make sure it wouldn’t. She would mend it if necessary.

But it cracked. And part of the jar was taken away. I knew at once that i would never have a perfect jar anymore. This person left all of us and took their part with it. I just never stopped to think how much of the jar was this person. So i was left with a broken jar. But the girl, this perfect combination of love and patience, tried to mend it. She couldn’t. A broken jar is a broken jar. Especially when the part that is gone was the reason the jar ever existed in the first place. I could cry for days but i never did.

Slowly, i adapted to the idea of having a broken jar. It still was made out of everything i held dear to me. I kept it filled with everything related to this girl who made me feel less miserable. Not that she knew i was. Nor did anyone, for that matter. But she kept my broken jar intact, gave it a use.

Then one day, out of the blue, the jar feels different. It is still broken, it will always be. But now, the jar has started to fill itself a little bit. Which is curious because this is not meant to happen. It happened once and it did for life, i thought. I ignore it, i hide it deep in the jar. No-one will ever know.

But, slow like time when you’re in pain, the jar filled itself more and more. I could ignore it but i was told it wasn’t a good idea to keep things. It hadn’t brought me any good. So i did not. I came clean. I tried to be righteous, tried to be fair. I couldn’t go on without letting it be known that this broken jar was repairing itself with the help of this anonymous, unwilling, creature. Slowly,  it was doing the repair. Although, it could never rebuild the jar, it made it less empty. It created its own space.

I don’t know if it is a good thing or not. I just know i wasn’t supposed to feel like this. I feel bad for it. Bad because it makes me feel better and i shouldn’t feel this anymore. Not this way, it isn’t fair. I hope sincerely that one day i’ll look back and think what a stupid thing it was. Not that i believe that it will ever happen. Not if it is in the jar.

I’ll carry it with me till the day it becomes part of the jar. I hope.

 

Santiago Roque

Author: santiago roque

I can predict the future. If given the right topic. Often confusing, i am mostly me on emotional steroids.

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