Fish in a fishbowl...

I used to have goldfish. Two orange, lovely looking fringetails, which seemed to live happily in their quite generous bowl.

I fed them every day, changed their water every two weeks and bought new water plantain on pretty regular basis. The fish didn’t eat a lot from the fish meal I bought, but they sure loved the plants.

I decorated the bed with tiny ceramic pots and plastic pearls. All in all it was a pretty decorative ornament in the livingroom.

Of course I didn’t really choose to get the fish to begin with; my son had a friend who lived in a house with a huge fishtank, and every now and again he presented his wish; that he too would get a goldfish.

One night I attended an annual meeting. We were quite a few people at this meeting, and the tables were decorated with nicely folded napkins and a vase with water in it... and a goldfish swimming in tiny circles.

At the end of the meeting the chairman announced, in a way too cheerful way, that we needed to check under our seats. Under one chair at each table there would be a note taped to the seat, and who ever sitting on that chair got the fish... and the vase to bring it home in.

I was so relieved not to get the note. I am a mum; I know who will end up tending to the living creature, and believe me: it is NOT the kid who really wants and wish for it.

The relief didn’t last very long , though, cause my friend sitting next to me handed me the vase and declared that: “This is from me to your son! I know he wants a goldfish, so this is not for you: It is to your son!”

There are many ways to corner a person; this is one of the most efficient ones.

So... reluctantly, I walked home on the icy street balancing this vase with a goldfish in it. To be honest I considered, several times, to unfortunately slip and by accident drop the vase, but then I thought about the broken glass and kids who might cut themselves or bikes with punctuated tyres and I decided against it.

Then I came to think about how I would end up picking the  squirmish fish up, trying to save it because I could never cope watching the fish just die, and I ended up saving myself from my own stupidity.

Which proved to be a good thing when I got home.

When I got home, my son looked up briefly to say hi, then looked again to notice the vase.... and then, he looked again and was totally extatic! He jumped up from the sofa with a giant smile on his face, took the vase from me, placed it on the table right in front of him, sat down resting his chin in his palm and just watched the fish... for quite some time. (I think I developed fond feelings for the fish then and there. To make either of my sons to sit still for some time is quite an achievement.) Then he ran to his room and came back with a notebook and a pen:

“We need to write a shopping list! The fish needs a bowl, grass, food and a friend!” You can’t really argue when your son is showing consideration for someone’s or something’s wellbeing, so he wrote the shopping list and went to bed.

After work the next day I went shopping. It was not a cheap visit to the pet shop, but it was worth it. My son beamed with happiness and the bowl looked beautiful.

However, it didn’t take long untill my son lost interest, and the only time he bothered to comment on the fish was when he knew it was time to change the water and clean the bowl.

My friends comforted me when I complained about the fish and the routine (and I did complain, even though I secretly enjoyed the pretty element on display in my livingroom. I placed it in front of a mirror, under a spotlight and it looked gorgeous).

They all told me not to worry: goldfish do not live for long, it would soon come to an end.

Two years later I began to worry the fish would die any day.

It is strange, now that I think about it,but i didn’t dread or worry about the fish dying untill then.

4 years and 3 months after my son got the fish as a present from my friend, he died.

I wanted so bad he would just vanish... but he didn’t.

The limp fish had to be scooped out of the water and I put it in a big matchbox, wadded with cotton, for my kids to bury him in. They were very persistent about that. Later that day I stood in the pouring rain, freezing my fingers numb, as I watched the surreal burial my kids arranged for a fish who had lived for so long in a bowl in our livingroom. Beautiful, and yet so little paid attention to.

6 months later the second fish died. During those 6 months I fed him every day, changed his water every two weeks and bought new water plantain on pretty regular basis. The fish didn’t eat a lot from the fish meal I bought, but he sure loved the plants.

I decorated the bed with tiny ceramic pots and plastic pearls. All in all it was a pretty decorative ornament in the livingroom.

Every morning I dreaded and worried about the fish would be dead when I went downstairs...  And then, one morning, he died.

I wanted so bad he would just vanish... but he didn’t.

The limp fish had to be scooped out of the water and I put it in a big matchbox, wadded with cotton, for my kids to bury him in. They were very persistent about that. Later that day I stood in the pouring rain, freezing my fingers numb, as I watched the surreal burial my kids arranged for a fish who had lived for so long in a bowl in our livingroom. Beautiful, and yet so little paid attention to.

And suddenly it was over. No more routine on tending to the fish. No more feeding every day, no more changing the water every two weeks and no more buying new water plantain on regular basis.

Strange how something so trifling affects your everyday...

Makes me think about my own life. The paralellism might be somewhat far off, but I am a woman, a mother, a housewife, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a teacher, a coworker, a coach, a customer, a friend (at least I hope I am considered one), and many, many more. I act out many roles and I am brave enough to say I often wish I didn't have to. Yet, they are all parts which make me me... and then, once and again on those rare, but treasured, occasions I get to be just me. And when that happens I discover again how I miss being and doing all the little, trifle things I do every day without anyone really noticing, and together they add up to be what makes me the person I am.