The broken rubber band

It looked like one of the saddest sights in life. It lay on my table, seemingly a completely healthy rubber band. But when I picked it up, it came apart at one of its bends. It was not completely healthy. It was broken. It still stretched though. So it was not dead.

It was alive, it was breathing, it had existence but it was in pain. It had no purpose left in life. Like a driver with his hands cut off or a punctured tire, it was alive but it was useless. It was in pain not just physically, but mentally. Its physical pain would’ve probably healed by now, since it seemed like it had been lying on my table for days. But when I found it, it was still trying to portray as if it was complete and not broken. It wanted to stretch around something freely and grip it with confidence, looking up at me as if to say, do not worry! I am holding it all together for you and I will not let go. But it was broken. So it was in unending mental torture, knowing every passing moment in its life that it will not bind anymore. It could stretch, probably more than before, but there was no meaning to its stretching. It was weakened.

Then I tied its broken ends together. Suddenly, it could bind again! It was still not fully recovered, but it was making great progress in rehabilitation. It looked up to me and I was sure that had it had eyes, there would be tears in them. It had suddenly found new hope, a purpose to existence once again. It wasn’t just alive, it felt alive.

Hmmm. I should probably find better things to do on a lazy Sunday morning.