It’s always a wonder how well our office plants thrive. Regularly watered. And when the sun is up, every pot is wheeled together and taken outside for a sun bath. It’s painstaking. But when you see deep hues of green with new sprouting leaves, you can’t help but think it’s worth it. My eyes are often drawn to these quiet living things. I can tell if it was swapped, if palm plants were placed beside the sofa instead of the dakit-like stems (resembles miniature balete trees). These plants stood as a lonesome backdrop against our yellow office interiors. It’s a fascinating thing that no matter how many leaves it shed, new green sprouts would take its place, which would sometimes harden to become new branches. There are also times when I’m very, very much tempted to pick up its shriveled yellow leaves. It’s not like I couldn’t stand the dead things lying in the gray carpet. Nor it is because it feels like my duty to keep the dead things hidden. Perhaps, it is simply because I may have an unspoken yearning for the tactile pleasures of touching what used to be so alive. Perhaps, by rubbing the surface of a dead leaf, I may accept that what’s dead is dead. And it’s not a sin to learn of its existence upon its demise.
Perhaps, through the sight of dead yellow leaves in the office carpet, I may let go of secretly finding answers for some questions, like how many times should I mourn for that part of me that will never come back?