The Proud Teapot

Once upon a time, there was a proud teapot. It was proud of its porcelain, proud of its long spout, and proud of its large handle. It had something in front and something at the back! In the front, there was a spout, and at the back, there was a handle. It always talked about these things. But it never talked about its lid. The lid had been broken a long time ago and was later fixed. So, it had a flaw, and people don't like to talk about their flaws, of course, others might. The cup, the creamer, and the sugar bowl—the whole tea set—remembered the teapot's weakness very clearly. They talked about it more than they talked about the intact handle and the beautiful spout. The teapot knew this.

"I know them!" it said to itself, "I also know my flaws, and I admit them. That's enough to show my humility, my simplicity. We all have flaws, but we also have strengths. The cup has a handle, the sugar bowl has a lid. I have both, and something they don't. I have a spout; this makes me the queen of the tea table. The sugar bowl and creamer are appointed as servants of sweetness, and I am the appointer—the master of all. I distribute happiness to the thirsty. Inside me, Chinese tea leaves release their fragrance into the tasteless hot water."

These words were spoken by the teapot in its fearless youth. It stood on a well-set tea table, and a very fair hand lifted its lid. However, the very fair hand was clumsy, and the teapot fell, breaking its spout and handle, as for the lid, there was no need to discuss it further since it had been talked about quite a bit. The teapot lay on the ground unconscious; hot water spilled everywhere. It was a severe blow for it, and to make matters worse, everyone laughed at it. They only laughed at it and not at the clumsy hand.

"This is an experience I'll never forget!" the teapot later said when examining its life's journey. "They called me a patient and left me in a corner. A day later, they handed me over to a woman who begged for scraps of food. I had descended into poverty. Inside and out, I didn't utter a word. However, this is when my life began to improve. It was truly a blessing in disguise. I was filled with soil, which, for a teapot, was essentially the same as being buried. I didn't know who put me there or who took me out. But since I was put there, it compensated for the loss of Chinese tea leaves and hot water. It also served as a reward for my broken handle and spout. A root of a flower was lying in the soil, lying within me, and became my heart—a living heart. I'd never had anything like that before. Now I have life, strength, and spirit. My pulse is beating, and the root has sprouted, gaining thoughts and feelings. It bloomed into a flower. I saw it, supported it, and forgot myself in its beauty. To forget oneself for others is a happiness! It didn't thank me; it didn't think of me; it received admiration and praise from people. I felt very happy, and it surely felt the same way! One day, I heard someone say it should have a better flowerpot to match it. So they hit me on the waist; I was really in pain then! But the flower moved to a better pot.

As for me? I was thrown into the yard. I lay there, practically like a pile of broken fragments, but my memory was still there; I couldn't forget it."