For a long time now, say four years I have been wearing a string of beads. Before that I was wearing a similar string of beads for about five years. I quite liked wearing that string of beads which resembled a string of prayer beads used by the Buddhist monks. Since that fascination, I have been replacing the beads everytime it snapped. The beads had become synonymous with my personality.
Not many liked wearing those beads and therefore that was a value-addition to that string of beads. AND ToDaY the string of beads which was with me for long, snapped and the beads fell down Slloowly . . . one by one . . . rolling . . . frolicking on the folds of my clothes. For a long time I had worn those beads and as time passed by the beads started wearing me. When people commented that those beads looked good on me and gave a mystical quality to me, I was elated. The casual liking to wearing beads slowly started acquiring a different meaning. It became an extension of me. I started associating my image with the beads. Since not many wore it, it became my signature. The few days I would remove it, atleast one person would ask me about the 'notorious' beads of mine.
I had allowed the beads to define me a certain way. Or rather I imagined the beads on me to define me. And today when the beads snapped, I felt an identity melting and that I could not do anything about it. I started thinking how something as insignificant as a string of beads could overpower me into defining my self. Not long ago, I had written a post on emotionally attaching oneself to something. How true!
The beads that wore me had finally snapped this evening. I think I will not replace it this time.
Picture courtesy: Internet