by Ram ben Ze'ev
There was a time when the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from my oven filled me with contentment. When the act of pouring vibrant paints onto a canvas, watching them flow and merge in unpredictable harmony, felt like an expression of my very soul. When shaping clay between my fingers connected me to something raw, something timeless. These simple pleasures—baking, painting, pottery—were more than hobbies; they were pieces of me. But now, they are tainted, mere reminders of a connection I wish I had never made.
I had discovered a family member I never knew existed. At first, it felt like a gift, a long-lost thread of my past finally woven into my present. Our conversations were warm, filled with excitement, curiosity, and the tentative steps of forming a relationship. I was open, eager, willing to adjust, to make space in my life for this newfound connection.
But the joy was short-lived. The conversation turned from light to heavy, from pleasant to consuming. Her demands on my time increased, pressing against the boundaries I had once held firm. My daily routines, the ones that had brought me peace, began to shift—not because I wanted them to, but because I felt obligated. Worse still, I found myself entangled in the weight of her world. Her husband’s negativity, the resistance of others in her life, the mounting stress that she carried—I absorbed it all. What was meant to be a beautiful reunion became a source of anguish, of self-doubt, of exhaustion.
The moment of clarity came quietly for me one day. There was no great confrontation, no explosive ending—just the creeping realisation that this connection was harming me. I was losing myself, reshaping my life around someone else’s chaos. The things I loved no longer felt like my own; they had become reminders of the burden I had taken on.
And so, I made the decision. I walked away. Not out of anger, not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. Ending contact was not easy, but it was necessary—not only for her stability but for my own sanity.
But what do you do when the things that once brought you joy now feel tainted? How do you step into the kitchen when every ingredient reminds you of the conversations you had while kneading dough? How do you pour paint onto a canvas, letting it swirl and spread, when every colour stirs a memory you’d rather forget? How do you sit at the potter’s wheel when the rhythm of shaping clay feels like an echo of something you can no longer embrace?
The truth is, you don’t. At least, I don’t. These joys were once my refuge, my escape, my comfort. But now, they are ghosts of a past I have determined to leave behind. I will not pick them up without feeling the weight of what they now represent. So, I have let them go. Not for a while, not until the memories fade—forever.
I will never return to them. These pieces of my life are gone, abandoned like remnants of a past I refuse to revisit. The paints will dry in their tubes, the clay will harden untouched, and the oven will remain cold. There is no reclaiming what has been tainted. Some things, once lost, should stay that way. I will not seek new joys in their place—I simply walk forward, leaving them behind forever.
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Bill White (Ram ben Ze'ev) is CEO of WireNews Limited, Mayside Partners Limited, MEADHANAN Agency, Kestrel Assets Limited, SpudsToGo Limited and Executive Director of Hebrew Synagogue