A Broken Vase and My Orchids
If I get caught by him, I get no problems of being pregnant at any age!
There used to be a chubby angelic vase crafted from delicate glass. Its short limbs clutched a tiny harp, and from 1996 to 2023, I wrapped it with care every time we moved. I cherished the instinctive likeness filled in my heart.
It was never displayed on the top shelf, but whenever I saw it while looking for something else, I would cradle it in my hand. A smile of nostalgic pleasure lit up my face.
Once, I decided to use this vase for growing orchids. As I gently poured water inside, there was water seeping out of the crack on the right foot like tears.
It did not bother me; instead, I admired how such a fragile thing could stand the test of time. I took care of this green inside an angel’s body and held my breath for a tad of pink to show up one day.
It grew so slowly like time was frozen in the green. Finally, a pale pink bud quivered in the air, a quiet clapping for my day-by-day care.
The bud swelled, but it never blossomed.
A week later, a butterfly fluttered in to rest upon the bud, its silver wings casting a compliment, “This is what I need today. It gives me the energy to carry on.”
A month passed, and a bee buzzed around the bud, it was humming an echo in my mind. “What a unique hue,” it praised. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen something full of hope.”
Two weeks later, a sparrow alighted on the bud, causing it to sway like a ‘Tik-Tok’ clock. When the disruption subsided, a message twinkled within the deep ink and grape-shaped eyes of the sparrow, “I finally discovered the value of freedom while resting here. It will enable me to soar higher and explore deeper boundaries.”
Day by day, I breathed the loneliness, and it was the only company beside the bud, as I poured my love into it. Other vases, previously with cracks, had been selected by a big name and remade of gold. They were like gardens with insects flying around and people lining up to water them.
Yet, I continued to hold and treasure my fragile bud, even if it didn’t have the strength to unfurl a single petal.
Pesticides and fertilizers soon arrived, introducing themselves, though their introductions were unnecessary since every garden was covered by their scent.
“No,” I said firmly, “it is growing, and I don’t want to rush it. I will let it thrive in its way.”
Pesticides laughed, “Appearance is the essence of the world. People these days don’t care if it’s genuine or fake. Those who understand how to live in this era don’t need to sweat for a harvest; they simply spend money and make monetized strategies at the right moments.”
Fertilizers preached, “Times have changed. ‘No pain, no gain’ is ash remaining in the past. I’ve helped countless individuals who never even watered their flowers create splendid gardens with millions of admirers.”
Suddenly, a saying came to mind, “Is hard work worth it? Is life passion still a thing? Can either of these put bread on the table?” I wanted to shout, “No, you cannot earn bread because you haven’t even discovered your passion to work on!”
Though the pesticides and fertilizers still nag about living with the flow to be successful, I persisted in my way to take care of my bud, maintained the crack at the angel’s foot, a purple heart of enduring the suffering from life, and provided my orchid with the purest water.