I have broken four of the ten brightly coloured mugs my younger brother bought me for Christmas almost twenty years ago. He was a teenager then, and it made me feel special that he spent so much of the money from his after-school job to buy them for me. Each time I drink from one of them, I’m reminded of my brother and how much I love him. Each time I break one, even though I know it’s not a big deal to my brother, I feel a bit of guilt and disappointment in myself for not taking better care of these gifts he gave to me. Isn’t it amazing how much meaning we attach to things?