It was a fine afternoon. I was walking home from work under the warm 3 p.m. sun when I saw a man kneeling on the greens behind an open light-brown fence. He was gardening.
I slowed down and tried to get a better look of what he was doing. He was trimming the bushes.
I realized something. His hands were so rough -it was big and bumpy, with many cuts. I was mystified by how his rough hands grow such beautiful colors.
But I walked past him anyway.
He was just an ordinary gardener, I thought.
Days flew. I hadn't walked pass that place for days. I decided to take a brief stroll that weekend, under the clear-blue 3 p.m. sky, just to see if the gardener was there. I thought I was just a little curious about his hands.
The gardener was there.
He was holding a handful of seeds. His rough hands looked like they were about to crush those offspring.
I shivered at the thought of it.
But he was just an ordinary gardener, I thought.
I was about to leave,
when he called me,
and handed me a small, dirty bag.
"I think you'd love this flower, Miss."
I received the bag in bewilderment.
"Thank you," I murmured. And I went home.
I opened the package right away as soon as I got home, and pour everything into an unused flower pot.
"Let's see how it turns out."
For days I just put the pot under the sun and give a little water once in a while.
Sprouts started to grow.
I didn't know why but I wanted to tell the gardener the sprouts made it.
And so I visited that place
"The seeds grow sprouts."
"That's great! Please bring it over so I can check on it."
I went home with a smile.
"Are you a gardener?" I asked the next day.
"Yes. I come from a family of plant-lover, and this garden is my father's Eden."
"I see. It must be amazing."
"You can come inside if you want. Lots of beautiful flowers."
And lots of beauties indeed.
I couldn't resist not coming since. I'd grown to love the flowers. Sometimes the gardener would gave me a hug-able bunch of lilies, or roses, or baby's breath to take home.
I often watched him work. Planted something, trimmed some leaves, watered from corners to corners.
I looked at his hands. They didn't look so rough, after all. They seemed gentle, instead. And I thought the flowers thought so too.
Now he didn't look so ordinary to me.
One day I visited him like usual. But he was nowhere to be seen.
I brought my ready-to-bloom yellow flower pot. He promised to give some minerals so it would grow even more beautiful.
I walked towards the back of the garden.
And there he was, at the very corner of it.
"Hi, I've brought my flower pot, as promised."
"I'm sorry, I'm busy now. Just put your pot over there, will you? Beside the spiders. I'll take care of it."
"What are you planting?"
"Just some grass."
I left in confusion.
"Hi, have you put some vitamins on my flowers?" I came the next day.
"Sorry, I haven't had the time to. Just come tomorrow, I'll be tending to it."
Again, I left. This time I was sad.
"Are you still busy?" I asked, after many next visits of disappointment.
"Yes, my dear.."
"But you promised."
"But I'm still busy. Some plants are sick. They need me."
And I was sick of waiting, too. I took my sad-looking pot, and stomped in anger.
I thought he was no ordinary gardener. I thought he cared about my flower pot. And me.
After all, he was the one who gave it to me. I didn't like people giving me false hopes.
Finally, the flower bloomed. It was indeed beautiful.
But what is beauty without a willing spectator.
And what is love without a devoted admirer.
So I decided to give the flower pot back.
I realized, the flower had never stood for itself.
"It blooms beautifully, but I don't think I love it."
"So you don't like it, my dear?"
"I do. I just can't seem to love it. I'm giving it back to you."
"Well then.."
"By the way, you never told me what it's called."
"It's a yellow Chrysanthemum."
"Oh."
It was a slighted love after all.
As the Chrysanthemum grew and bloomed, there was a necessity to decline any amorous advances.
Brief sweet beginnings.
And in time, I'll learn not to miss them.
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