Thursday, 5/22/25 – 6:30 PM
It was just another evening. Me, my little sunshine Dhingu, and my mother-in-law were sitting in the parking lot, enjoying the breeze. Suddenly, the sky changed. A strong storm started building up. The wind picked up speed. It felt like a sandstorm scene straight out of the movie Dune.
One of my neighbors called out, asking me to move the flowerpots from my balcony. The wind was wild. I rushed upstairs and began pulling the pots inside one by one.
As I finished, my eyes caught something — two small, beautiful orange flowers quietly blooming in one of the pots.
In that moment, time stood still. My heart went back — to a day two years ago, when someone close had taken me to a nursery. I still remember choosing that plant, full of joy, full of hope. I’ve always loved plants, especially flowers. And this one — this little orange-flowered plant — it had been through everything with me.
It bloomed happily at first. But then I had to leave home for 15 days. When I returned, the plant was dry and burnt by the sun. Still, I watered it again, gave it love — and it bloomed.
Then came the monsoon. Thunderstorms destroyed many branches. But it didn’t give up. It stood there — a little shaken, but still standing.
Later, when it stopped flowering, we trimmed it completely. It looked lifeless… but again, it bloomed. Even more beautiful than before.
And I realized… I wasn’t just looking at a plant.
I was looking at myself.
That orange flower?
That’s me.
I’ve seen storms too.
I’ve faced betrayal.
I’ve lost my self-respect, my identity, and my peace.
People tried to break me. They blamed me for their own actions.
They twisted my words, highlighted my reaction, but ignored what caused it.
They almost broke me — but they didn’t.
Because my roots are strong.
I didn’t rise again just for my daughter.
Not just for my family.
I rose for me — for the version of me who brings light into a room, who speaks truth even when it hurts, who loves deeply and stands strong even when she’s alone.
In every storm, I kept my head high.
Not because I was untouched — but because I know how much strength it takes to stay kind, honest, and true.
Yes — I am that orange flower.
Bent, but not broken.
Cut down, but never gone.
Ignored, blamed, but never defeated.
And like always — I bloom again.
This is her. The orange flower who reminded me who I truly am.
