Cups

In my Chinatown home, I always had a cup. That cup was for water, milk, juice, and sometimes even soup. That cup was a Styrofoam cup. It was disposable, it was clean, it was temporary. I halfheartedly rinsed the cup before each use, haphazardly tossed it into the fridge afterward, and heartlessly threw it away after a week or two. I thought I was cool for "getting a new cup" every week.

And then today at work while picking from six communal espresso cups, I realized that having your own, permanent cup somewhere is a sign of your belonging and permanence there. In the cupboard above the sink is an array of company mugs with their respective owners' names printed on them. I don't have one yet, and actually prefer to use one of the six communal, anonymous espresso cups--whether for coffee or for water--for now, because I don't know my condition of permanence here. I suppose that having your own cup is analogous to committing to the company.

But I never felt impermanent in Chinatown. Perhaps it was merely my lack of knowledge of and understand about commitment? Or maybe my parents just didn't want me to handle something as "serious" or "dangerous" as glass or ceramic (or even plastic?).
Or maybe I was just lazy and comfortable with the Styrofoam cups.

Now I have a glass for water, milk, juice, and sometimes even soup--at home as well as my apartment. Is it fair to say that I have grown up?

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...This is the nonsense I come up with at work.