Letting Life Pour As It Will

There’s always a cup somewhere waiting to be filled. Might be the chipped mug in my my mom’s cupboard, that carries the memories of countless teas that’s been served us and numerous other visitors or maybe it’s the plastic cup from my preschool days that still smells faintly of Milo. My mom still keeps those cups from our childhood. She says she wants us to see them when we’re really advanced in age. Those cups she keeps may look like mere vessels but really, they are silent witnesses of my childhood. One time, when she took me to the cupboard where she stores them, I wished the one she said was mine could speak and remind me of my days at preschool.

Looking at the cup in my kitchen, I think of how it has held both warmth and cold, and how it’s trusted to carry what my hands cannot.

When life feels heavy, I remember the phrase “my cup runneth over,” but the truth is, there are days when my cup feels empty, patiently waiting for me to pour something into it. Writing this, I can only imagine if it sometimes feels useless when it’s not been in use for days.