I hate my water jar; the shape is so clunky, no comfort, no handles, no grace, just a stubborn, tedious, white knob you twist to release what you need.
You turn it too much, water comes tumbling out, flooding the counters, soaking my sleeves and dripping into my tiles. You turn it too less, and it comes out painfully slow, one humiliating drop after another, almost mocking me for wanting more. Each time I reach for the jar, I stand between two extremes: a flood that ruins everything, or a drought that leaves me wanting. Nothing is an option, because the dryness still claws at my throat as a reminder that indecision is still a decision.
Now every glass feels like a lesson in patience and restraint. Don’t be greedy. Don’t rush. Wait. Wait for your turn to have your glass full – even if your throat yearns for hydration, even if your waiting seems unfair. Don’t make a mess.
Don’t make a mess.
But sometimes thirst changes you, the burning sensation scorches all the logic and patience into quiet ashes. What’s left behind is the toxic residue, the ashes of restraint, and instead of satisfying me, it feeds the thirst more.
The knob gets twisted all the way.
My sleeves are soaked, my counter is flooded, my tiles glitter with scattered shards of water — yet my glass still isn’t full. Strange how water from this jar makes me thirsty again and again.
Maybe because I don’t hate this jar
Maybe I just hate controlling the water coming from this jar.
Writer – Jocosa Lin
Editor – Alvia Farooqui
Artist – Natalie Wei
–July 2026–
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