“If somebody digs a whole in you, plant
nice flowers and tell that person to go fuck themselves”
Unknown
I certainly did find it funny the first time I discovered this say mainly because it is the kind of
thing I would say. However, past the hilarious laugh, I never really took time to reflect on it and find
actual meaning in it. And then one day, while I was running up and down the stairs
at work trying to get things done, in a moment of pure serenity and calm it
finally hit me.
Planting the flowers is replacing the ugliness of the void with
something beautiful to you. Something you care about, something that bring
beauty, peace and calm where there used to be a gigantic void. I find it
amusing to complete it with “then send a nice bouquet to put on their grave”
Sounds mean… but most of the time some people dig holes in you in hope to see
you crumble. But then you find a good use to it and whatever beauty that stems
from it will surely make them miserable to death. So you share that little bit
of beauty with them (let your bright life and new found purpose light their dim
life). So that even in death (metaphorically: when they are enraged about not
having met their objectives) they can still remember that you found a purpose
in the pain they tried to inflict you.
Not only the flowers represent repurposing an unfortunate
situation into something more meaningful for you, it also serves as a monument.
A place that you revisit to remind yourself of how strong you are, what a long
way you have come. It is a place where you go to meditate on how what you once
thought ruin, chaos and destruction, was another chance at making things better;
another chance at letting go of things that did not belong in your life to make
place for the things and the people that are meant to be in your life and in your heart.
And then one day when you meet someone sitting in the middle
of their ruins too, trying to figure out life, wondering how they are going to
fill the void and move on,. And you invite them to visit your garden. And you tell them about you, about your story, about your garden which stands right where your ruins and hole used to. You tell them about how you turned the brokenness into
something beautiful and show them this garden, those flowers, those beautiful things you
have invited into your life when letting go hurt but was the only option, as a undeniable proof that they can make it through too.
A proof that beauty can stem from pain
and brokenness, a proof that blessing can sometime arise from tragedies.
-Excerpt from a memoir I will never write #1
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