There’s this vintage glass cup in my house, my parents have had it for over 30 years. It holds a special in their heart and I respect that, even though l really do not care about inanimate objects. That glass cup is a territorial spirit. I don’t go near it. Somehow I feel we signed a nonverbal MOU to stay out of each other’s way but whenever it appears were I am washing dishes, I silently pray to osanobua it doesn’t break.
There is also another vintage standing mirror in my room, it’s been there since eons but unfortunately, last Sunday I mistakenly broke it. I was only able to keep this secret for four days and when my dad found out, it wasn’t funny! He took me down memory lane on how he purchased the mirror
Dad: do you know this mirror is older than you? Older than this very house? How did you break it? Were you fighting with it?
Me: errm…. Daddy! I know this mirror is the elder brother I never had but it was a mistake I really can’t explain how it happened.
Dad: you think this is a joke? If you are not breaking things, you are throwing them away
Me: Osanuoba! Were you planning to give me this mirror as a wedding gift? It’s just a mirror na.
Dad: you don’t have sense! Spoon that doesn’t know the price of garri.
Me: burst into laughter!
He left angrily but he didn’t know that I couldn’t bring myself to throw the tinniest piece of the mirror way when it broke. He didn’t know I stared at that mirror for long and kept wondering why it couldn’t be fixed. If he had gone through my phone history he would have seen where I googled ‘how to fix a broken mirror’. Because even though l did not care about inanimate things I felt a little sad when it broke. It seemed I destroyed a memory.
So I kept a large portion of the broken mirror beside my bed. I am keeping memories! Broken memories!