Bloom

Chapter 5: Letting Go

Memory

mem.o.ry | \ˈmem-rē\

Noun

: the power or process of reproducing or recalling what has been learned and retained especially through associative mechanisms

          Part of growing up is letting go. Sometimes, we let go of clothes we outgrow, we let go of toys we don't play with anymore, we let go of memories we hold on to. In my case, I think it's time to let go of this tree. It has been both good and bad to me. Throughout my stay under this marvelous place of learning, I've been ignoring its rotten fruits falling on my head and the creepy crawlies bugging me all the time. There are worse things about this tree that I'd rather keep to myself. The discomfort this gives me keeps progressing every time. I could feel the anxiety barely taking over me. I think it's time to let go. I know deep down that letting go could be scary. That would mean I'd have to leave my friends. It's not that simple, but maybe it's for the best. So I lay my blue hibiscus, alstroemeria, sunflower, dandelion, and oleander on the grass beneath my tree. I took one last glance before moving on to a new one. I miss my friends, but it's all part of the journey. I will always cherish the fresh flavor of knowledge and values I get every time I bite into the fruits this tree bears. Letting go feels heavy. The most important thing is that I still have my daisy with me.

          As I walk along the meadows, looking for a new tree to stay under, memories keep coming back tome. I remember those moments when I first saw the significant blossoms that caught my attention. The impact they've brought to my life is immeasurable. I also remember that flawless red rose and the way it hurt me. Although it caused me so much pain, it never failed to shine in beauty. Preparing myself for a new chapter, I keep reminding myself of how I evaluated flowers before making friends with them. It's been so long since I picked one up, now my anxiety tells me I should relearn how to. What if the new flower I pickup won't enjoy the temperature of my hand? Or the tightness of my grip? Or the texture of my skin? I halt my train of thoughts as I catch sight of a new tree, the most beautiful and fruitful I've ever seen! Could this be it?

          As I place myself beneath my new tree, I find myself surrounded by fresh new blossoms. I try to observe and evaluate them one by one. "Be careful" I keep telling myself. This one looks pretty, and that one too! "Pretty" isn't always nice. Any flower could disguise itself behind beauty, which once again reminds me of that red rose. Maybe it's nice if I start nice and easy, then eventually make friends when I feel comfortable enough. The flowers aren't my only concern−I'm also here for the tree. I grab a fruit and take a bite. This is even better than the last one! This alone excites me. As I breathe in, I can smell the fragrance of a new beginning.