On October 1st, I bought myself flowers. I was shocked at how happy it made me feel. I cut and braided them into my crimped hair for the Lumineers concert. The best part about that night was the rejuvenating confidence I gained from my hair. After only 4 dollars and 30 minutes on my hair, the smile on my face lasted until morning.
It’s now Nov. 1, and the rest of the bouquet is still sitting in the same vase, in the same water, in the same candescent, artificial bathroom lighting. I hadn’t looked at them in a month, but when I found them today, soft, white mold blanketed over stems inside the vase. I was shocked, but why? It was in the same water and in the same candescent, artificial bathroom lighting. No attention on them, no change of scenery, no change of nutrients, and I was shocked. I threw them away instantly, fearing that somehow the mold would infect my lungs. They were beautiful, but the mold somehow made them toxic. They were thriving off self-love, but now descend into decay from neglect. But the flowers aren’t at fault; they were placed in a stagnant room without natural light or fresh water. Usually, flowers can create their own necessities, but they had no ingredients to do so. So they sat there, for a month, decaying, hoping and wishing and praying that someone would be caring enough to come along and notice what they needed to grow and thrive once again. But the second they grew mold, they were thrown away.
I’m just like the flowers. I’ve stayed in the same comfort zone for 18 years. I’ve prioritized staying the same rather than growing or changing. I’ve kept blaming others for my malnutrition because it is true that I was placed here, and I can’t control where I live. I’ve stayed in the same place, with the same distaste for watching my life deescalate. It’s true I can’t pick where I grew up, but I keep subconsciously choosing to stay in the places I know, never the unknown.
But unlike the flowers, I can heal on my own. Unlike the flowers, I can find new ingredients to remain self-sufficient. I don’t have to rely on someone else to nurture me and make me beautiful again. In one year, I’ll be at college, trying to make a home away from home. Will I be moving to a new place to grow and thrive, or will I become more immobile and start to decay? My greatest fear is watching the world go by through this blurry, small-town vase, sitting in the same cloudy water and candescent lighting. I want to travel. I want to explore. I want to find the thing I don’t even know I’m looking for. But I know for sure that I won’t be cemented in one place or encased in a glass vase, afraid to brace the challenges I am yet to face.
