A beautiful rose has grown in my home garden. She is gorgeous, her petals falling perfectly in the most luscious shade of red. She is not the first one I have had, there have been about half a dozen before her, but none of them as perfectly formed as this one. And I feel so proud.
No sooner did I get over just how lovely the rose in my garden is, I began preparing to lose her.
I was anticipating that someone will pluck her.
Because, that’s exactly what happened to the half a dozen earlier ones.
The first time it happened, I was appalled, shocked and violated. I vented to anyone and everyone who would listen. I was consumed by the loss of this precious thing in my life, something that grew right before my very eyes, and something whose existence was so dependent on mine. I tried to find a space to keep her safe, somewhere that will keep the trespassers out, but any such place would also keep the light out and take away from her things that that I wished her in abundance. No, I could not punish her for this.
Slowly I got over this first blow and soon there was another. And it happened again. This took me to the investigator mode where I suspected every person who walked by my gate to be the “plucker”. I did not find him/her but I did collect a fair amount of strange gazes by my neighbours when I suddenly opened the door, convinced the plucker was at it again. I spied on my maid when she left and almost screamed when I found a rose in her hair, but stopped myself when I realized there is no way to prove that this rose is a rose from my garden.
For the next one, I took to plucking it myself, because if I won’t then someone else surely will. But this just made me sadder.
But this new gorgeous one has brought about a whole new response.
I am prepared that she will be plucked. I will never know by whom but I knew I will not be able to avert it. I love her and I will lose her. But still, she is lovely and she bloomed in my garden and she is here right now. So I smiled and took a picture and tagged it #happiness.