I threw my perfectly crafted airplane into the corner of my room for the last time before I pulled open a drawer and fetched out a crumpled list. I crossed out ‘paper airplanes’ then carelessly circled the next thing: gardening. I glanced out of my window to watch my mom meticulously extracting a plant that had clearly outgrown its pot. The idea of squatting under the blistering hot sun while digging out soil seemed unpleasant. However, the fiery passion she had for gardening inspired me for as I long as I could remember.
My mom was at the peak of her career. She was demanding; she expected nothing but the best from others. She was feared yet respected. But every day she would come home to care for her extensive garden that was built-up over the years. Sometimes, I would feel as if she cared for her garden more than her own family. Still, I was hopeful and enthusiastic.
“Mom, can I try that?” I requested, trying not to sound nervous.
Her entire body jumped a little. She turned around and wiped off the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand. She tried to catch her breath before replying.
“Really? Sure – come closer, I’ll teach you.”
I could get the excitement in her voice despite it being masked behind heavy panting. She started explaining everything, but it was hard for me to focus on anything other than each and every bead of sweat that was trickling down the sides of my face. However, I quickly learnt that being drenched in sweat was not as bad as having to shovel wet and fertilised soil. The smell of the compost was the least of my concerns because having my eyes sting from sweat was much worse. I regretted not giving up on the spot because my mom then entrusted me to take care of the plant. I could not just say ‘no’ because she sounded so exhilarated to have me on her adventure. At that point, I knew that I was in deep trouble.
Two months passed and there I was, stuck in this situation that seemed awfully familiar… for the fourth time. Who knew that god forsaken plant, that I still did not know the name of, would grow that quickly. Well of course my mom knew, but she did not warn me that the plant would require so much maintenance before throwing the responsibility on me. I thrusted the garden shovel into the soil at an angle, before making a scooping-like action to pull it out, a technique honed from the many hours wasted. Hours that I could have spent learning to code, fish, paint or cook. Progress had not been made in more the past two months. My train of thoughts came to a grinding halt as the soil I just scooped out started moving. I foolishly used my finger to brush away the soil only to have a worm start curling itself around my finger. I immediately recoiled in fear and disgust, dropping the shovel and flicking my worm-infested hand with all my remaining energy. My mouth was wide-open but I could not scream. The sheer horror shearing every inch of my flesh muted me. I trotted away, almost falling over from the panic.
I decided to try again, a few hours later. I tried to calm myself down. I sauntered back to the scene that was the same as how I left it. Except it was not the same. There was movement. I rediscovered existence of those horrifying worms and the intense emotions came rushing back. Unhesitantly, I bolted out of the garden. This time, I was not looking back. I was done. I had thrown in the towel.
“Why did you leave everything there? There’s dirt everywhere and you weren’t even done yet,” mom exclaimed frustratingly as she turned the corner into my room.
“What? Yes… yes I’ll do it later…” my voice trailed off as I typed the next line of code. I was obviously not going to do anything about the mess, I had not even watered the plant in over a week. She reminded me every day for another week before she went to check it herself.
“Did you just give up? You obviously haven’t been watering it. It’s so wilted already. You did not even finish transferring it. You took out the soil halfway and left? Are you serious? How irresponsible can you be?” her stentorious voice ascended sternly as she spoke.
It did not reach the point of shouting but that made it worse. I was petrified. Her lips were pressed tightly. She stared straight at me, her glare unflinching. It felt as if it pierced through me and she was on the verge of a breakdown. I felt like I had sunk into my chair, and all my energy had been instantaneously drained away. I could hear the sounds of my heavy breath as the room fell into a frightening silence. I curled my toes tightly, in hopes that it would numb this dreadful feeling. I knew from the start that abruptly giving up would come back to bite me, yet I chose to ignore it. But now, it was almost as if a pack of wolves that were silently waiting had finally found the perfect moment to pounce on me. At last, it dawned on me that I did this to myself. How could I be this irresponsible? Why did I think that it was a good idea to just leave? Why didn’t I think how she’d feel? Her own son, a disgrace. The wolves retreated into the shadows, leaving me crippled. I fell deeper into my chair, completely consumed by it, like it was quicksand. Part of me was hoping that I would just disappear, alas, I did not, instead I sat silently, trying to keep it all together. I had said nothing thus far, so she left. As I listened to her footsteps on the cold marble floor fade away, I could not help but finally let my tears fall freely.
I had to fix the mess I had created, so the next day, I set foot into the garden again after almost three weeks of procrastination. The plant I had painstakingly cared for for four months had unfortunately withered away, leaving behind a soulless shrub. I started cleaning up the pot, sifting out the creatures in the pot. My heart skipped a beat every time a living creature emerged from the dried dirt. I then excavated out the remains of the once vibrant plant. I dumped the pile of sticks and worms into the compost and was left with a clean slate. I went to buy a few new plants that were still young to grow myself. I was hoping that I could fill up an empty corner of the garden with my plants. And maybe then, I could make it up to my mom.
In the following month, the icy cold tensions between my mom and I began to thaw. She became friendlier to me. I was sure that this was only because I was her son, and she had the responsibility of taking care of me. However, it was evident that she had not forgiven me as she would not talk to me unless absolutely necessary. What used to be a strong family bond had disintegrated. This motivated me to continue what I had started. I tended to the ever-expanding flower bed every day, no matter how tired I was. I had prepared for over a month in preparation for Mother’s Day.
“Can I show you something?” I asked as if she was completely oblivious to my month-long preparation.
“Sure,” she replied nonchalantly, serving as further proof that there was to surprise to begin with.
But she was wrong. I had to rearranged everything the previous night to spell out ‘I’m sorry’. I could barely read it myself, but I knew that she could as her lips immediately broke into a smile.
“I’m sorry for what I did… I hope that I have proven to you that I’m not as irresponsible as you think I am. Can you please forgive me?”
“Of course I can.”
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