My life isn’t necessarily boring. I am surrounded in a sea of entertainment as streams of stories meet my ears daily. I have companions left and right, front and back. Except for rainy days and new moons, I see the sun every day while I bask in moonlight every night. People would probably describe my life as simple yet beautiful. People would probably envy my life too, if they can hear my story. I mean, if I could even talk to begin with.
But no, I can’t talk. Therefore, people can’t hear my story. As a result, no one understands these feelings that I currently have. If I can tell people that I am lonely because my life is lonely, they would probably look at me with confuse faces. They would probably ask me why when I already have all the entertainment a person needed to lighten up his or her world and all the companions he or she wished for in his or her life.
Girls come and sit down by the garden almost every day. Most would just sit there and cry while some would sit and pick at our petals. They would pull us up by the stem and then starting with “he loves me,” begins to tear away at our petals. Once they get to the end, they would start all over again because they were not satisfied with the “he loves me not”. Some would cry even louder when they ended up with “he loves me,” screaming at the top of their lungs, “If he loves me then he wouldn’t have cheated on me!”. Girls…. They never know when to shut up.
Boys come and occupy the garden now and then too. Some would just sit there for hours at a time staring into space, as they get lost in their thoughts. Others would sit there and mumble to themselves like madmen, yet not as mad as some girls can get. I find their stories, their conversations, and even their tantrums very interesting. I always enjoy finding myself lost in their words as I imagine myself living in their world experiencing what they’re experiencing. Sometimes, I wonder what it feels like to feel pain, to be at bliss, to know what hatred is, and to experience the beauty of love. Sometimes, I wonder if I were to have a family, how would my brother and sisters look like. Would we look like our mom? Or would we carry our father’s traits? I wonder what it is like to attend school, to work, to eat, and to simply walk on something people called feet. With a stem like mine, I can’t get anywhere at all.
For the past couple of days, my companions have been leaving me. Someone keeps coming to the garden and instead of sitting down to talk to us, has been picking us off the ground before carrying us away from home. Unfortunately, I have not been one of the ones that have been picked. That person keeps on gushing over my companions, complimenting them on how pretty they look. At the moment, I am the only one of my kind left. The others had all left with that person. I guess this means I’m not pretty enough. Now I am lonely. My life is lonely.
I don’t have any more companions to occupy me as I soak up the sun during the day and bathe in moonlight during the night. Now that I am the only flower still left in what used to be the garden, I am an eyesore to the society. Girls stop coming to share their stories and guys stop coming to just think. It is as if I am not even alive anymore despite my vibrant colors that I still force myself to emit day after day… after day.
Finally, I decide to give up trying. No one cares about me. Why am I still trying so hard to make myself shine when people apparently take my existence for granted? Why am I still trying when the person that had taken away all of my companions is not even going to come back and pay me a compliment? Even if it was just a ‘thank you for working so hard to make the society pretty,’ it would have been more than enough for me. But… no one came. And so, I begin to wilt. The sun is not shining today. The moon was not out last night either. It is raining- no, pouring today. The weather fits my mood perfectly. If I am going to die, I might as well die on the day when no one is out to see me as I drown myself in this misery. But then… just as I am about to let all of my colors fade and let loose the last petal, the sound of a little girl’s voice meets my ears. Her words stop me.
“Mommy, look at that flower. It is so pretty!”
Next thing I know, she is already by my side, her short fingers running down the length of my stem. I cannot move. “It is cold and lonely…. Can we take it home with us Mommy? Please?”
I hold my breath. I am afraid of the answer; therefore, I am afraid to even begin to hope. If no one picked me earlier when I was still lively and had my colors about me, then what are the chances that someone would pick me now when I am at my worst and looking so dead?
“Are you sure you want to take her home honey? She doesn’t look too well...”
With a confident “Yeap!”, she picks me up and carries me home. And I can almost swear that at that moment, the rain disappears as the sun shines down its first ray of light. My death wish vanishes as hope floods my system with life- again.
© N. Hli 2014 All rights reserved.
[Official date of completion: March 2012]
0 comments:
Post a Comment