I was destined for other things.
It is a treasured memory, this destiny of mine.
My childhood was serene. Kind. We were too young to communicate in words, but we felt each other close—my sisters and me. It was warm there, nestled together; growing roots. Mum would speak to us softly, her voice like a lullaby. She would nurture us, and sometimes, when she was most content, she would tell us stories of our future. We would grow into beautiful women, she would say. Strong and delicate. Exquisite, like a dream of a white-washed memory. We would be the attraction of the palace. The emperor would admire us. Dignitaries would long for us. We would become something. Whatever that really meant, I wasn’t sure. But it sounded like a good thing, this “something.”
I imagined my future as I slept and even as I woke. It soothed me knowing that I had a purpose. A destination.
I basked in the loving rays of the sun on that spring day when Mama told us that it was our time. We would be taken to the palace. Our roots were ready, she said. I felt a little tingle of pride shift through my pedicel as she carefully uprooted my body and placed me in her special container. It felt a little strange at first—my naive legs uneasy in this new soil, but I was so happy to be on my way! And she was happy too. I could tell from the way she spoke in that calming voice. I relaxed into my temporary home, though I was careful not to let myself droop into sleep. Mama always said that the sakuras have posture. And I was a sakura. I wanted to make her proud, so I sat as upright as I could. Fate was waiting around the corner, and I wasn’t about to ruin it by my own laziness!
“Take care of them,” I heard her say. The man took us carefully and placed us in the back of his machine. The journey was bumpy and confusing. We bounced and jiggled as we moved. I tried to calm myself, taking deep breaths as I pictured the garden that would become my home. And, of course, the divine human empress Mama had told us about. Oh, it will be glorious! I thought gleefully to myself.
And then it happened. My destiny destroyed and changed forever. The container toppled over. The lid flew off, and I found myself tumbling and falling. I landed with a crash, dizziness taking over. And clothed feet. Clanking, stomping feet. Everywhere.
There amidst the clamor of this thing they call the city, my life changed forever. The dreams of the manicured garden and the glorified life of a royal tree vanished into the hordes. Bewildered and vulnerable, I began to wither. But luck has a funny way of finding misfortune. I felt her hands cup me softly. She looked at me with her curious dark eyes. I thought for a moment she might take me home to the palace. But instead, she patted me into a narrow crack in the wall. I was safe at least, and I was grateful to her for rescuing me.
Days passed, and I grew stronger. I may not have had the rich nutrients of the palace soil or the touch of my mother’s hands. But I was determined to survive. I am resilient. Mama told me so. I gathered all my strength, channeling my roots into the scant soil of the concrete. The noise of the people and their machines was distressing at first, but I learned to lean into the vibrations of the city, understanding its rhythms. The sun’s rays, though often obstructed by towering buildings, still reached me enough. Just enough. I learned to live with less, gathering water in snatches whenever rain came. I would make something of myself in this urban garden. I had to.
And I did. In this new place, I garnered strength. The limited resources made me more resilient. I may not have the elegance of my sisters, but gradually, as my roots widened into outstretched arms, I began to find my place in this new world.
Soon, I began to notice the city’s inhabitants taking an interest in me. Children, in particular, were fascinated by me. I guess they had yet to learn of the harsh ways of the city. The business and busyness that seemed to go hand in hand in this human world. They would often gather around, chattering and pointing. “How did a tree grow here?” In their curiosity, I felt a new sense of purpose.
As the days shrugged into weeks and the weeks into months and years, my arms began to unveil delicate pink petals, and more and more people would stop for a moment. Some would speak to me kindly. Others would remain silent, stroking my branches as if remembering another time or place. And I too would remember a place I never knew. I had lost my home where I should have been flanked by my sisters. But I had been misplaced.
And found somehow.
Here, on this dirty street, I discovered a different kind of destiny. I am hope in the dust. My blossoms an unexpected gift to the people and to myself. And I wonder now, as I bloom again, whether this me was my destiny all along.
- dalee Generated
- This is my own work and has not been generated in whole or in part by AI
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