Our family’s six-seater dining table, with its sun-mica top glinting in the light, was the cornerstone of my childhood home. While our everyday meals were shared on the kitchen floor, the table stood reserved for grander occasions. It came alive with guests, groaning under the weight of dishes so delicious I swear the flavours linger on my tongue to this day.
Sadly, after losing my father early in life, we moved to a smaller home designated for my mother, a school teacher. With limited space, the dining table was tucked into a corner, leaving only two sides usable, effectively making it a three-seater, but it never lost its charm. It stood tall and became a guest buffet table, my study table and the table on which I wrote my first love letter to a girl I married years later. It hosted many pivotal conversations with my mother that shaped my future and it still stands tall in my memories .
That table showed me life is about making the most of what you’ve got, it’s the richness of experiences that count, not the space you occupy. Our purpose isn’t diminished by limitations; rather, it’s the strength of our continuing to do what we were meant to do, that truly defines us.