by Patricia Nicole Tan
I’ve always had a fascination with vases, ever since I was a child.
Their elegance captivated me—the way they gleamed in the light, standing tall and flawless, like precious treasures meant to be admired. Over time, I collected them, each one carefully placed in its designated spot, proof of my obsession with their perfection. I needed them to be flawless, utterly without blemish.
My obsession with perfection was something my mother instilled in me. She always insisted that I present myself impeccably to the world, never showing weakness or vulnerability. “Be strong, don’t let them see you cry,” she would often say. She dictated my every move, shaping my dreams and crafting my schedule down to the minute. My life became a constant effort to win her approval, to erase the disappointment in her eyes whenever I fell short of perfection. I worked tirelessly for that rare smile of pride, those brief moments when her eyes sparkled with satisfaction.
My vases became an extension of that drive. I lavished attention on my favorite one—an expensive, immaculate piece, free from any flaw. I polished it meticulously, ensuring not a speck of dust marred its surface. I guarded it fiercely, not allowing anyone to touch it lest they disturb its pristine condition.
But then, one day, my little cousin came over. I was supposed to watch her while her parents were away. As she wandered toward my cherished collection, I warned her to stay away, but in a moment of carelessness, she knocked over my prized vase!
My heart stopped. My perfect vase—destroyed, shattered by a careless child. I was consumed by rage, my hands clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I screamed, lost in a fit of despair, unable to accept that my flawless treasure was now in pieces.
But then I saw her—my cousin, eyes brimming with tears, clutching her arm where the broken shards had cut deep. My anger melted away, replaced by a crushing wave of guilt. How could I have been so blind? How could I have ignored her pain in favor of my own selfish obsession?
I hurried to her side, tending to her wound, whispering apologies as I bandaged her arm. My voice trembled, trying to hold back my own tears, as she smiled at me, so easily forgiving, so quick to offer comfort.
Through her tears, she apologized for breaking the vase, her small voice full of regret. I told her it was okay. She looked at me, surprised, perhaps expecting more anger, more hysteria. But instead, I found myself laughing softly as I cared for her, the weight of the broken vase suddenly insignificant.
She asked me how I could move on so quickly, and I told her that she was more important than any vase in the world. I explained that while I love vases for their beauty, for their ability to be perfect, sometimes they break. And when they do, it’s not the end of the world. We can always try to piece them back together, even if they’ll never be quite the same.
She hugged me then, and I hugged her back, realizing that not everything in life is meant to be flawless. We all make mistakes, we all get hurt, and sometimes we shatter. But those cracks and breaks don’t diminish our worth. They are simply part of our story, and with time and care, we can always mend what’s broken.
© Patricia Nicole Tan
Patricia Nicole Tan (she/her) is a writer who finds comfort in putting her thoughts into words. Writing is her preferred way of expressing herself, offering a medium through which she can communicate her deepest ideas and emotions.
Find out more on Instagram @nichole.t4n.
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