an ode to my orchid

On the corner of the windowsill in my room, there sits an orchid. In a gray pot with its green roots extending outwards and its numerous blooms extending upward, it is ever expanding, growing, and blooming. I have often referred to my writing, newsletter, and life itself as a garden, and I truly believe that this gorgeous flower is the physical embodiment of that.

I originally acquired this orchid over four years ago, when I first moved to my current home. My mom and I were wandering through the grocery store, overwhelmed by its newness and unfamiliar layout. On the quest to find coffee, something that no one in my house can live without, we stumbled upon a display of orchids.

Although all were beautiful, I was most drawn to the most unassuming one of all. It was the smallest plant, with no blooms and barely any buds, and was on sale for 50% off. “No one wants it,” a worker said, “It’s just not enough.” I, too, had often felt that way. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough. Not social enough. It always seemed like everyone else was so much more than me. Out of a mixture of stubbornness, spite, and a strange feeling of solidarity with a flower, I decided that it had to be mine. I see you, I thought. I know you.

I was already feeling extremely overwhelmed and lost. I had just moved hours away from everything I knew and loved. We hadn’t found a house yet and were living in my grandma’s spare bedroom. It seemed like I didn’t know anyone or anything. I showed up late to school every day because it started at a different time than my old school, and no one had told me. I didn’t really understand anything that was going on. To say I felt uprooted was an understatement.

But I had that orchid. Under my semi-diligent care, it quickly began to flourish. It started to form more and more roots, began to flower, and was a constant source of light and life.

In the next two years, I went through the hardest time of my entire life. I didn’t have friends, was failing my classes, felt useless and out of control, and had no one to truly talk to and connect with. I fell into extreme depression, and it felt like no one even noticed. But no matter how low I felt, that orchid kept blooming. Orchids typically flower from three - five months a year. Mine flowered for three years straight. Every time a blossom started to dry up and fall, a new one would quickly rise to take its place, providing a constant source of hope and a reminder that life actually can be beautiful.

Sometimes nothing in my life felt consistent, positive, or beautiful, except for that orchid.

Now, I’m doing incredibly better. I have people I connect to and spend time with, but I’m just as happy by myself. I’m enjoying learning and school, but it’s ok if I don’t always get perfect grades. That period of my life was truly terrible, but it’s the only reason why I am the person I am today, and I’m grateful for that. Since then, my orchid has gone through periods of not flowering, just like me, but now I can recognize that it hasn’t given up; it’s just resting. It’s conserving its strength, energy, and nutrients so it can continue to flourish.

You might not always be flowering, but you are always growing.