I discovered my love for flowers, recently. But I wonder if my love for flowers has come to be from my mother. Gardening is her hobby. For as long as I can remember, mother has always loved having a garden to herself; whether that meant having a small courtyard with herbs and flowers, or a terrace full of pots and plants. Growing flowers I think, gives her her space, time for reflection and leisure; she really does enjoy planting and taking care of her seasonal flowers; sometimes she takes the job a bit too seriously too and tires herself. She finds simple, true happiness in the way a small seed or sapling is reared into a beautiful being that gives her satisfaction and that others go on to praise so joyfully.
I remember once, coming to a house that was filled with floral fragrances from her flowers, while the roses twined over the gate. I grew to learn the names of some of the flowers she had grown, listening to her conversations with her friends, her exchange of seeds and pots with granny and the neighbours, and visits to the local nursery with her.
Even today, I like to ask her what she has been growing at home. I ask her to send me their photos and at times I send her photos of a new flower I may have come across.
As much as she loves gardening, she doesn’t have the space to do so other than at our terrace, on pots and plates. I collected some of her seasonal flowers’ photos she sent:
I wonder if it was always within me to grow as a flower lover, but I only discovered it now…