I was going through my mother's garden a half an hour ago, and I happened to remember that there was one plant there which got my attention more than her bromeliads. It was a small stump of what we locally know as a 'Rosal'.
I remember my mother telling me that when I was born, an elderly lady gave that same plant as a gift. Manang Irene tells me that it grew to considerable heights, only to die for some yet to be told reason. What she did was to recover what she could and pot it in the chance that it could 'grow' again.
It died and was born again. Now it's contained in a pot which limits its growth. It remains in the pot because it lives in unknown territory, on a land not necessarily owned by its caretaker. If it was planted in good soil permanently, with care and without any bounds, it would grow to be more than it was before it 'died'.
It fascinates me, because I find relevance in its story in more ways than one. It also raises some questions:
Am I any better than the plant? Are you also in your own 'pots'?