I once found an antique plate online and got a discount on it because of a visible crack. When it arrived, I was thrilled; the deep cobalt blue plate with its delicate hand-painted cranes was even more beautiful than I expected. I felt smug, proud of the deal I had scored. But my satisfaction was short-lived.
My cousin, an artist, immediately recognized the “crack” as Kintsugi, a Japanese technique of repairing pottery with gold to highlight the object’s history and imperfections rather than hide them. I was quieted by this realization. The flaw I had haggled over was actually the point. I felt embarrassed and small, so I messaged the seller to offer to pay the rest, but he never replied.
Months later, a coworker, Taemin, overheard me describing the plate and asked to see a picture. He instantly recognized it, saying it looked just like a piece his grandmother had lost when she fled Seoul during the Korean War. I was stunned. It could be a family heirloom that had been passed down for generations. I lent it to him, and he later sent a voice message: his mom had started crying the moment she saw it and confirmed it was the plate, recognizing a tiny chip on the base.
I told him to keep it, refusing any payment. He insisted, but I stood my ground, telling him it belonged with his family. A week later, he brought me a box of rice cakes his mom had made with a handwritten note that thanked me for returning “a piece of her mother’s soul.” The story went semi-viral after a museum feature, and I heard from many others with similar stories of lost family heirlooms.
The final twist came from the original seller, who messaged me months later. He said he had known the plate had history and that he trusted it would get where it needed to go, which is why he left the gold visible. He never asked for the money back. His final words to me were, “Sometimes we’re just stewards. Not owners.”
That message changed everything. I stopped seeing items as things to bargain for and started seeing them as objects with a history. The experience taught me that what we think is broken or worthless might actually be someone’s most precious treasure. It taught me that life’s greatest moments of joy can come from letting go.