The Voice of Kalachuchi

Background: I posted this on the 19th of March 2009, a year after I left my province to come to Sg. This was the time when I and my University classmates/friends had a weekly blog challenge. We specifically picked anything about flowers as the subject for this particular week's blog. So let me share my post 4 years back.

...we’ll delve into the inner sentiment of a not-so-famous flower. We’ll see how, as human, can we relate to its feelings. The narration being used is in a “first person” point of view...

"I envy the Gumamela for it is tucked by girls behind their ears to look prettier. It is also used by old folks to wash up the face of their young girls when the latter reach their first period of puberty, for it is believed that Gumamela would help prevent girls from getting pimples and other skin impurities. Indeed, Gumamela represents beauty. I envy the Bougainvilla for it is often planted in the garden and can dance freely in the lawn. When in full bloom, it looks so attractive and kids like to play with its flowers. I even envy the cactus. Though it’s not a beauty so to speak, yet it is expensive and is among the collections of the flower lovers. But most of all, I am jealous of the Rose for people use it as a present to love ones during special occasions or even during ordinary days. It undeniably symbolizes love and is always the favourite among the flowers.

Why do I envy these flowers? Because they are significant and have their own importance. They are valued by people. They are loved and taken cared of. When they are dry, people water them and cultivate their soil. When they are about to give up, people try to revive them. When they don’t bear flowers, a medicine is being sprayed on them. But all these I’ve never experienced. I don’t even know where I came from. I sprouted from nowhere and tried to survive on my own. I don’t see any reason why I need to battle life for years now. I am never noteworthy. When the rain pours and thunderstorm strikes, nobody shields me. When the sun is too hot and my roots are too dry, nobody waters me. I am always alone and no other flower to talk to. What more, I was not even given a beautiful name. I am just Kalachuchi."