I WILL NEVER PICK FLOWERS AGAIN
I was looking at some flowers of yellow and violet this morning at my favorite spot in the campus. My eyes caught them dancing with the breeze, radiating even brighter in the warm kiss of sunlight. I suddenly felt the urge to pick one of each beauty so I could take them with me as I leave the place for my next class. But something inside made me stop, and made me ask myself, “what good will it do to me or to these beauty if I pick them out?”
If I take them away from where they belong, and from where they grow freely surely I will be glad at having to hold them even as I depart from there but then I will have to bear the sight of life slowly abandoning them. Then I will have to throw away the beauty that once captured my heart. Will that make me any happier than to see them now right before my very eyes in their most regal of colors? Then it dawned to me, ALL MY LIFE I HAVE BEEN PICKING FLOWERS because I thought, to possess them is the best way to make me experience my love for them…only to be disillusioned at the moment they die out soon after I had picked them. The beauty and radiance disappear, and what’s left is the bitter sight of withered petals. By clinging onto the idea that to love is to feel good at the presence of the very reason for this wonderful feeling I have forgotten all about THE REASON ITSELF, of how I can possibly give back what THE REASON had allowed me to experience. I have forgotten that the real reason why I love them is that they are what they are when I found them.
Now I understand why I am indecisive when it comes to falling in love. It is because I have grown afraid to be disillusioned as the beauty dies out. It took me to destroy a huge garden to realize that the only way I can always love them and see the real beauty in them is to let them be, never picking them out — allowing them to grow and be just the way they are. It will no longer matter whether or not I can hold them. I can always love them in my heart and wherever I go there my heart is, so as everything and everyone I love. I will never pick flowers again. But this time, not because I now know what love truly is (I am still learning) nor because of the fear of disillusionment, but because somehow I have come to understand that to pick them is to take away life from them, and to do as such is definitely not love after all.