Broken, But Beautiful

I smile as I look over at my wife while we wash the dishes. We do have a dishwasher but decided early on that we would do them by hand once a week so we would have a dedicated time to talk and be together. After 10 years of marriage, it seems to be working. Samantha smiles back at me, humming a song to herself as she washes a plate, then places it in the other sink to get rinsed later. I chuckle softly as I pick up a bowl to wash it. I realize which one it is when I see the gold that weaves its way through the ceramic.

About two years into our marriage, we had been putting away the dishes from the dishwasher when I’d accidentally dropped it and it broke on the floor. I cursed to myself before grabbing a broom and dustpan and began sweeping it up. As I walked over to the trash can, Samantha gently took my arm.

“Wait. I can do something with that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “We could just get another one,” I responded. She laughed at my comment and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Have you ever heard of kintsugi?” she asked me.

I frowned slightly and shook my head. “No. I don’t think so.” She then explained to me that kintsugi is a Japanese style of repairing broken things like plates and bowls and how she had always wanted to try it. “Wanna try it on the bowl then?”

“Of course!” She smiled as she took the dustpan and rushed off to her arts and crafts room. I shook my head as she hurried away and finished putting the dishes away, careful to not drop another dish.

She spent the next week or so first researching and figuring out how to even do it, then finding the necessary materials. It then took her a few weeks of careful work, meticulously putting each piece back together, putting lacquer to fill in the gaps. I liked to watch her work, so I happened to be in the room when she turned to me with a wide grin on her face and presented the bowl to me.

“Done!” she announced proudly. I gingerly accepted the bowl from her, carefully looking it over.

“Wow. This is amazing,” I said quietly, in awe at her beautiful work. She chuckled softly, still smiling, and nodded in thanks. We decided to continue using it like normal so it could serve as a symbol for our relationship; it wasn’t perfect, but despite and even because of those imperfections, it was more beautiful than a perfect one.

Samantha gently bumps my arm with her elbow, waking me from my stupor. I shake my head, then hand her the bowl to set in the rinsing sink, smiling wistfully. She chuckles softly as she sets it down, her eyes lingering on it as she begins washing another dish. She smiles and I can tell she is also thinking about its history and what it means to us. I resume washing as well, but my mind wanders back to the bowl.

Not long after she had fixed it, there would be times when we would argue over who got the bowl, saying things like “You used it last!” or “You’ve used it a lot lately.” One of us would eventually remember why we still used the bowl in the first place and remind the other. We would then insist on letting the other person use it, smiling and laughing until one of us relented. We would then graciously accept the honor of using the kintsugi bowl for the evening. It eventually became a contest between us to give a better reason for why the other person deserved the bowl that day. After it was washed, we would leave it out on the counter to be the constant reminder we wanted it to be.

We finish washing all the dishes and then shuffle around as Samantha begins rinsing them and I begin drying them. After I’ve dried the kintsugi bowl, I put it in its normal spot on the counter for all to see. I set all the other dishes in a rack to air dry the rest of the way. Samantha hands me the final dish to dry, watching me with a grin and a glint in her eye. I give her a wary glance as I put the plate on the rack, almost immediately feeling water suddenly splash on my face. I turn to her with a look of mock horror and disgust as she sticks her hand under the water, then splashes me again, giggling. I reflexively put my arm up to block some of it, shying away from her. As she goes to get more water on her hand, I rush away and out of the kitchen with a wide grin on my face. Undeterred, she chases after me, cackling maniacally.