The Broken Teapot
I put the broken teapot by the window sill. I light a candle and an incense stick. I put them in the teapot. August 16 is village fiesta. The feast of San Roque. I notice in some cities, the unwanted people are often found in places called San Roque. There is a folk song, a non-sense song, called The Beggars of San Roque. The people are described as not being what they appear to be.
Our neighbour moved in four years ago. They came from places where they were unwanted. They are not very rich and they are extravagant. They like throwing drinking parties for the few drunks of the village. The man of the house is deaf and the woman has a loud voice. But the deaf heard me when I opened the window while he was putting garbage by our back gate. The woman talks loudly to let people know she has company. They try very hard to make it appear that they are happy.
I don't like doing that. I can't help expressing exactly how I feel. I scream and shout when I am angry. I cry when I am sad. You won't hear me laugh much. I live with someone who has no joy. He only makes me angry and sad. I think he spent all his years fighting and struggling against something. He still can't stop doing that. It's hard to live with someone like that.
But I am learning to find joy in myself now. The same joy that my father brought me when I was little. It's also the same joy I feel when I exchange messages with my sister who lives very far away. I cried when my mother rang me up to greet me on my birthday. But I also felt joy when I heard her voice.