Crushing Gardenias

There are gardenia bushes just outside our street in the village. They had been there for a very long time. And when I was talking about my wedding two years ago, I said that I wanted gardenias for my wedding bouquet. Unfortunately the flower makers didn't have gardenias, instead they used white roses and put in some purple grapes. Yes, I had grapes on my bridal bouquet.

While shooting gardenias after the rain a week ago, I was not only intoxicated by their scent but was so captured by their beauty that some poignant thoughts crossed my head. The flowers were just too sweet-smelling I recalled that saying about forgiveness: that Forgiveness is the sweet scent the flower gives us when we step on them.

I have always believed that. I guess that is just a simplification of many philosophies of non-retaliation, of Christ, of Gandhi, of many other revolutionaries and peacemakers who opened the doors of enlightenment from the world's ignorance.

 

I know that human conflicts are inevitable. I am this old not to have experienced frictions with other people. There were the people who told you lies, who made promises and broke them, who borrowed money and you never heard from again (quite a lot), who raided your fridge (quite a lot too), people who pushed you and pulled you, sent hate letters, and so many other forms of human discord. Time passed and you eventually parted ways. It has been my own principle not to sow grudges so I will not reap them. So I go on and live my life, forgiving those who might have done me wrong. Then comes a time when you meet again. Sometimes they'd tell you that they heard about you, and that they're glad and proud of you. Sometimes they'd write a mail telling you "that you do cross my mind every so often." Sometimes they'd tell you that they watched  TV and the news reminded them of you. In your case, you've forgotten who these people are. You've forgotten how in the first place you were ever entangled with their existence.  And little by little, they begin to confess about their lives. You don't judge. You just listen. And just by listening, you can only feel the agony of what they've been through.

The mystery is this, the fragrance of a flower haunts you. And the more you crush the flower, the stronger the scent becomes.