This is a story of a rose, who was watered quite enough to have blossomed like any other flower we all know and love today.
She accepts the ration she’s been given, and uses it with all her might and strength to grow to her very fullest, each and everyday.
She grew and grew, day after day. Went through nights haunted with rainstorms and endless weeks of drought.
Her mind is crept with fear and anxiety, of worries and insecurities.
But above all that, her biggest concern, is the fear of not being enough.
Especially being a single rose in between all those other flowers around her,
whom she thought managed to have all appeared prettier than her,
and more beautiful.
Her insecurities not only allowed her to look down on herself, but have also misled her into mistaking the beauty she was given as unfading flaws.
She started picking at her own thorns, wondering why she had to have them in the first place,
trying so, so hard to get rid of them.
But they stuck to her very core, and was never designed to ever be taken off of her stem for all eternity.
On days, she’d see flowers alike who also possessed the same amount of thorns as hers,
happily embracing them without a care,
but had also seen ones that cried themselves to sleep,
wrapped inside the pain of owning them at night.
She then looks at the ones which had no single thorn outside of them,
all smooth-sailing stalks, upholding their entire living-breathing existences,
breathing freely, high-spirited and light.
But what she failed to notice in their seemingly perfect thornless bodies was that,
they had no one else to protect them from the insects that crawl from underneath,
chopping down all the petals and nectar they worked so hard on blooming their entire lives,
leaving them with nothing but an empty stem, who would soon fall inanimate to the grounds,
without a single petal or crown that used to lie on the very top of their heads.
She stood there in awe as she witnessed,
all the insects that turned away,
withdrawing themselves from the danger they know will come after touching her thorn-filled surface.
She then finally realized the concealed meaning behind those “ugly” imperfections she had to bear upon her being,
that it protected her, from the small uncalled dangers she often underestimates,
it also gave her pride and dignity, to those who dared to touch her,
but despite all the things mentioned above,
the very thing that surprised her the most was that,
those thorns in which she first thought were meant to destroy her,
were only there to help her grow.
The thought came into me after listening to an old classic tune entitled, “La Vie en Rose”. Then after remembering that I have snapped a piture of these gorgeous pink roses in Jedburgh (where we took a short stop before getting in the city of Edinburgh), I decided to write this story instead. I know it’s far from perfect, as I am self-conscious of the fact that I have not yet reached the skills of a professional storyteller myself, but I hope it was worth the read.
This excerpt is dedicated to all the roses out there who feels as if the world had turned itself against them for not being good enough, constantly battling ways to think otherwise. You are enough, even if it may take a while for you to think that way, and that’s okay. We each have our own invisible thorns that are there to help us develop better.
It may sound cheesy, weird, and often times ambiguous of me to write these type of posts, but I assure you that nothing’s ever gonna stop me from doing so anyways. You can either love it or hate it, or just simply ignore it. I’ll leave you to choose.
In the mean time, thank you to those of you who made it this far. I hope you can gain something good out of reading this post, I really do.
Have a pleasant evening.