I can’t recall the moment I entered, but I remember feeling “important” that I was chosen.

So many were left behind, but I was fortunate, I was no longer merely on display, but part of a family.

“I love this,” I would hear people say as they gazed lovingly upon me, reverently stroking me. Contentment was in my soul. I stayed with them for a long time, being treated kindly, washed gently, because I was so fragile, and consistently fed with mouth-watering food. I occupied a place of importance, behind shiny, just cleaned-glass for my protection. Life was magnificent, and I was loved.

As the years went by, and I no longer looked as I did before, I noticed that affection and attention became less. That I was no longer paraded as the beauty of my youth.

The tenderness I had become accustomed to, was withheld when I was allowed out. I had lost that new shine.

That day they sent the young child to come to get me.

“Please watch how you handle me,” I silently cried.

“Stop running, hold me with both  hands!”

My pleas fall on deaf ears and the young child, trips over his own awkward feet and instinctively his hands open, and he lets me go.

“Oops,” he cries as he sees me falling.

I see the distance between the floor and my body, lessen, become closer in seconds. I am falling, and there is no one to catch me before I hit the floor.

Bang!!! Crack!!!

I lie on the floor, winded, broken into a thousand pieces. I don’t know where it hurts more. I see the sadness and pity in peoples’ eyes as they surround me – those that have rushed to hear what the noise was all about.

I wait, patiently while the ones surrounding me decide what to do with me.

“Get the broom, sweep it up and throw it in the rubbish bin,” the dad says.

“Wait, what is happening? I’ve been here for so long,” I cry as I feel myself being put together, not together as before but all the broken pieces that are me, lying together in an untidy fashion on a piece of hard moulded plastic, that serves as my gurney.

“We will miss it,” the family agree as the lid of the bin is lifted, and I am thrown into a dark, smelly abyss, left to hunger and dream about what my life was like before when I was perfect and shiny.

As tears well in my eyes, it becomes mixed with the leftover food that the family couldn’t consume.

I have become part of a bigger “problem” consuming our planet. I have been renamed rubbish!