The Orchid and The Novice Gardener
June 2020
“Here, I have something for you” my mom motions to me, the corners of her lips reaching the ends of her face. And there it was, two stems towering before me with its authoritative stance and vibrant green leaves.
My record for caring for tending plants was a solid 0-3. I had killed three baby succulents in a row earlier that winter– forgetting to feed it, placing it directly on my furnace, and then outside in the frigid cold. To my surprise, my mom thought it was time for me to graduate to the big girl plants as I was now a certified adult (child).
“Congratulations, Claudia!”
“Thanks…mom.” I wondered how soon my record would become 0-4, but I quickly mirrored her perfect dentist smile. If I had learned anything in my senior year of high school, it was to feign happiness. Unfortunately, I had not mastered the skill enough to fool myself into happiness.
Celebrating myself was extremely uncomfortable for me. Yes, I had graduated high school, but imagine if I hadn’t. I’d be the black sheep of the family– difficult to ignore but impossible to truly acknowledge. Yes, I had graduated from the best private high school in the nation, but I had only gotten in through connections and coincidence. The girl’s varsity basketball team was desperate for recruits and my private trainer had established roots in their boy’s program. Yes, I graduated in the top 20% of my class, but if I had gotten straight C’s my parents would have probably sent me back to public school. All I had done was follow the beaten path of expectations. There was seriously nothing novel about that.
Throughout July 2020
I walked past the plant time and time again, as pacing up and down the hallway was the only way to exercise during a pandemic. Its purple flowers command attention in an otherwise all-white background. I sneak a glance and plop on the couch to devote my undivided attention to my strawberry plants on my Harvest Moon game. This, at least, I can’t actually kill.
September 2020
“Can you believe you’re starting school again?” my mom asked.
“Honestly no” I reply, keeping my eyes glued to the TV screen as my in-game avatar skillfully horseback rides across the green meadow.
“It’s your first day of college, though! I remember when I was in college…”
“Mom-” I start, “I’m sorry I can’t talk right now, I have a lot to do.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. I had to water my crops, feed my animals, grow my farming business, and progress my relationships with the townsfolk. This was much to do in a day’s worth of (in-game) time.
“Before you forget, make sure you water your orchid. It’s looking a little dehydrated,” she says before departing from the couch.
As I lifted my bones from the deep depression I molded on the couch, I noticed the purple petals by the windowsill had turned maroon. Its leaves, now brown, were reduced to a quarter of their original size. Feed me, please.
I refuse to feed you if I can’t even feed myself.
“Just throw it away” I called to my mom. “This thing is pretty much dead anyways.”
2021 and onwards
After a year of online school, fragments of normalcy returned to our lives. We were allowed to move onto campus, have in-person classes, and have a college experience. As incoming second-years, we entered with our chests puffed. Age-wise weren’t freshmen, but we were right with them. We wove through various friend groups, tried to spread our dusty wings, and discovered our drinking limits, by of course, trial and error. We embarrassed ourselves more times than I could keep track of and even tried to grow an onion in a cup. We failed, obviously.
And throughout those years of growing, connecting, crying, and experiencing all that college had to offer, I stood just before the finish line.
Early “congratulations!” reignite the imposter syndrome. Have I done anything worth the congratulations? Or is this just formality? All I’ve done is follow the beaten path of expectations. Had I decided to work after high school or go to a community college, I’d be the first of my familial generation to not attend a four-year college straight after high school. After all, my parents had saved and invested thousands into a 529. There was an expectation that I’d pursue higher education.
April 2024
My mom had rejoiced. After four years of caregiving an otherwise hopeless patient, the orchid showed signs of new life. Two buds emerged from a singular stem, one had been lost in its fight for life. No matter how small they were, they stood once again. Their presence was undeniable. I’ll admit I hadn’t watered the plant within the last three years, if at all. There were many times I considered sparing my mom’s feelings from the orchid’s foreboding death and tossing it all together.
My mom sent a photo collage of her feat, which was a second feat for her technologically challenged self.
“What comes next?”
There’s no more outlined journey after graduating college. Many people choose to continue their education in graduate school, while others already have jobs lined up and careers to embark on. All I know is that I want to travel. I want to explore. I want to see it all. And hopefully, I have the figured out. If not, perseverance will be my guiding light.
Thank you, mom.
