pieces of me

some years ago, i gave my copy of 'slaughter house 5' to biko. it was not even mine to begin with - it came with the great bookshelf that haider khalu passed along to us before moving to malaysia and which eventually became the source of much hassle and aggravation for my family in later years when we took to moving to a different house every year.
there was a time when the book became very significant in our lives. so i gave him my copy. to hold and keep forever.
there was a pencil drawing of a car on the back of the front cover. drawn in a child's hand. my bhai had made this mark when he was about two (he was keen on any piece of paper at the time) and it is amazing for a two-year-old's handiwork.
it is a testament to his gift. and it is perhaps the only one from so long ago. and now, thanks to me - it is no longer in my family. i feel guilty about this - needlessly, most likely. my family (including bhai) are not very sentimental people.
part of the guilt comes from having placed too much faith in what i perceive as being important to people: i gave something that did not matter to anyone to someone to whom receiving it did not matter. and at the end of it all, am left feeling like i have wronged both parties.