To hold your future

My Ring

I made this ring when I was still with my ex-girlfriend. I think it was a day before I left for the States. I hastily told the engraver that I would like our own names to appear on our rings. My ex-girlfriend must have felt surprised. She later asked, with disappointment showing, why had her own name was on her ring instead of mine. She sounded betrayed.

Having our names switched around made sense to me too. But I did not think of it when I made the decision to have our own names on our own rings. That was sensible to me, since the names would help identify the rings in case they were misplaced. Or so I thought.

Some months later we broke up. I was devastated and cast the ring aside since I wanted to be away from the artifacts of our relationship.

One day, many weeks later, I rummaged through my messy table and this ring, buried deep under a pile of ugly matrix calculations on napkins, rolled off the table. I picked it up and stared at it. I thought: "Who is Duane? Crap. I lost myself didn't I? Is that why I feel so helpless?"

This thought grew into a deep contemplation that lasted a good hour. Partly because I wanted to procrastinate from work, partly because I really felt motivated to think about it. Part a is of course more compelling than part b.

Ironic. I wanted to put my name on the ring so that I could find it when I lost it. Back then, it felt more like it found me.

The relationship with my ex-girlfriend disappeared overnight. No goodbyes, no reasons, just an busy signal over the phone. I was in California, she was in Singapore. Nothing I could do. I knew she was seeing someone else. I was devastated and lost too. I realized I had lost myself.

I could not motivate myself to do anything besides paint and run extremely long runs. I ran 5 miles a day at 5am every morning, painted the rest of the time, ate one meal of porridge every two days. I drew away from my friends and stayed in my room otherwise. I lost 40lbs in a month. Kinda weird to see my abs again. Also kinda weird to see the bones around my shoulder that clearly.

Running distracted me and helped me breathe better. Painting was like talking to an old friend about my sadness. I was in pieces. I was pathetic.

The ring found my memories.

It reminded me of the hope I had before I arrived in US. I remembered my dreams, my family, my friends. I remembered the hopes my parents sending me off, hoping that I could do what they could never accomplish. I remembered my friends asking me to take good care of myself. I remembered looking back at the airport watching my sister's eyes turn red. She almost never cried in front of us. I remembered how hard I fought to go to Mudd. I remembered saying to myself that I have to trust that I made a wise decision even if the rest of my world could not. I remembered promising myself that I will teach myself to fail and climb back on my feet.

My ring found me.

I sat in front of the ring, watching as layers of myself snap back in place. I did not bounce back dramatically. But I knew I was ready to return.

Thank you ring. You held a piece of me that I needed to revisit myself. I'm not sure when was the last time someone thanked a piece of cheap metal for a kick in the butt. But I think, inanimate metal or not, it deserved my gratitude.