It wasn’t cheap. You searched high and low, sparing no expense to bring me into your home, ensuring I fit perfectly into your “ecosystem,” as they say these days. 

At first, I was welcomed with open arms. I had my room, always kept clean and polished. I felt a little lonely at times, but your family, friends, and relatives visited often, filling the room with warmth and joy. They say I should become more valuable with age, but somehow, that hasn’t happened. 

Over time, your visits dwindled. Now, I’m lucky if anyone spends time with me. I feel neglected, out of tune with modern needs, gathering dust. Am I destined to be replaced by someone newer, only for them to suffer the same fate? 

I reminisce about the old days when I was the center of family gatherings. Your meals were a symphony of laughter, delicious aromas, and happy chatter. Kids would jump onto me with glee, and I felt fulfilled, knowing I was part of your joy. Even after the meals ended, you treated me with care. 

But those days are gone. What used to be a lively meeting spot for the family has faded into random, infrequent visits. My heart aches, though I don’t complain. I bleed silently inside. 

I feel sorry—not for myself, but for you. I came into this house with so much promise, and for a while, those promises were fulfilled. But modern life has replaced togetherness with individuality. 

Still, I hope. I hope for the day when happy times return. When the house is once again filled with laughter, love, and the smell of home-cooked meals. 

Contd. 337. With Melancholy I Look Up - Where Are the People, Where Is the Food, Where Has the Laughter Gone? - Part 2