Yesterday I received a rather curious email. The inbox usually chimes when my eternally dissatisfied employer drops a mail with a ton of work or has thought up some innovative angle to rebuke me.  But this was neither.

This was a mail from my teacup. Well… my ex-tea cup.

Though curiosity prompted me to open the mail, as I read through it I was filled with shame and self-contempt.

I dare to share the letter with you; in the hope that you never find yourself in such a situation, ever.


My love,

I am not sure whether you remember me; likely, you don’t. If you had cherished the times that we spent in each other’s company, you wouldn’t have thrown me out like a spoiled chicken soup.

But I can never forget our time together, even in this dark place you confined me to.

As weeks and months go by in this cockroach-infested, mold-stricken, dingy-smelly cupboard you threw me into, my thoughts of you keep coming back to me.

I remember the look in your eyes when you first saw me in the shop around the corner. Maybe that twinkle made me trust you, made me believe that we would be together all our lives.

I thought, rather foolishly, that my dreams had come true when you placed me on your table. But I soon realized that the laptop thingy captured all your attention. You seemed transfixed by her; though she looked nothing more than a glorified suitcase to me.

However, I found refuge in that I was always there with you.

To my great joy, you did kiss me, sometimes. But when I think back now, your motives were entirely selfish. You only loved the tea, not me, per se. I now realize that a teacup without tea is just an empty vessel!

As time went by, you cared for me less and less. If I could draw a graph of ‘your love to me vs time’, I could show you how it dropped lower than the grand canyon.

Yes, I admit. As I became older, I couldn’t keep things together. Yes, I did stain your favorite white shirt. Yes, I leaked tea over your “important documents”; and certainly invited ants to your laptop.

 But you better remember that the crack that oozed out these damned drops of tea was because of you. You let me slip from your fingers and put me down. It was your carelessness, your oversight, and your incompetence that broke me.

Moreover, it is not like you didn’t humiliate me. Remember the nine hundred and thirty-eight times (Yes, I have the exact count) you left me unwashed in the sink? Or the five hundred and four times you spit the tea dust back into me, without others noticing?

If my porcelain body is stained, you are to be blamed. If I am leaky, you are to be held guilty.

I trusted you with myself, but you let me down. As soon as you found another, you blamed me for everything and replaced me with her. And I get to spend the rest of my life in the mold-filled, dingy, and disgusting cupboard under the sink.

But the funny thing is, I never hated you. I hate myself for that. 

Your’s always

Teacup (ex)


NB – Moved by the words, I took the broken cup from under the sink, filled it with mud, and planted a money tree. All the while, I made sure not to glance at the other broken china glaring at me.

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