Susan LaffertyThe simple Indonesian rice bowl broke.
It was a “free with purchase of dish detergent” blue and white china bowl. So common and ordinary. A reminder of my childhood.
But it slipped from my hands, hit the marble countertop in our Delhi flat and broke in two. The last straw in a long day, week, month…year.
And I broke.
Ordinary, simple vessel on the floor in pieces.
The lines were forming to board several Air Asia flights out of Penang. I asked the woman behind me if this was the line for Singapore. Yes. She was also going to Singapore. She asked which seat I was in. 18B. Her seat? 18A.
Once we boarded, I found out she was traveling to visit her brother and sister who are now Singaporean citizens. I was going there to overnight with our daughter before heading to the US.
In further conversation, we talked about the weather and she said, “I like cold weather.”
In this tropical country? “Where do you go for cold weather?”
“London,” she said and shared that her other sister had lived there until her sudden death from cancer the year before. I told her I was sad to hear of her loss.
On beach vacations in my childhood, I made little sand bowls. Piled up a mountain of sand, scooped out the top, then slowly poured a cup of water in.
It baked in the tropical heat. And I baked in the tropical heat. Then, brushing away the loose sand, I lifted out a fragile oddly-shaped sand bowl.
The momentary art of a child at play.
The surf moved in and out. I sat in the vast ocean holding my little creation. A large wave drenched me. The bowl dissolved. Wet sand ran through my fingers in the waves. Delightful.
Then I made another one.