A Mug

A mug rests at the corner of my desk, with its arm broken. A black mug, that was gifted by a cousin sister who placed the hopes of her own and her daughter’s future and freedom, in my travels. Her daughter of 2 years and 8 months is the closest that I have ever grown to a child so this mug, with my favourite photos of her and me, became a friend.

On my last day before leaving home, she brought this, stuffed in bubble wrap, and excitedly asked me to unwrap it. When I did, I saw a plain black mug and to be nice, I did what the gift receiving protocol expects us to do, “This is so cool! I love how it totally goes with…