Roots

I went to the Flora in Contemporary Art & Culture exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery, and as I wandered through, I was so fascinated by the phenomena of flowers.

The first room you walk into was titled “Roots.”
This section featured artwork exploring the earliest appearances of flowers in art. The artists and historians formed conclusions about cultures and societies based on how flowers were depicted in art.
This is how most of the world traces back history, through the creations of artists who reflected their realities during that time.

Is that how we work too?
Can you trace back our roots through our creations?
Can you tell where someone came from by the way they look and what scares them?

Do our roots inevitably shape who we are?
Does that mean we have no choice but to succumb to the parenting we received and the neighborhoods we lived in?

I despise this thought.
That flowers cannot just pull out their roots and replant themselves elsewhere.
That they might never have the opportunity to change, grow, or glow better.

So many adults around me do not realize that we have this ability to reroot, rewire, and become different people.

We do not have to accept the outcome predetermined by our roots.
We can heal from our childhoods.
We can become different adults from the children we once were.

Our parents and all the adults who had a say, when we did not have one, undeniably impacted the way we think and function and behave.
They have left marks so deep you would think they are irreversible. But they are not.

Everything and anything can change. It will not be easy, but the fact that another way is possible is already something to hold on to.
Sometimes hope is enough.

They do not hold us hostage now that we are adults.
They do not owe us a second chance or another attempt.
They are not responsible for rerooting us or planting us somewhere else.

We are free.
Only we have that ability and control now.
We are not stuck.
We are not helpless.
We are not incapable of recovery.

We do not need to wait for someone to save us, feed us, bathe us, or teach us.
We can do it all for ourselves.
And there is so much love in that.
Self-care.

No one will take care of you better than you will.
No one will love you more gently than you can.

No one can protect you and keep you safe like you should.

We have to will that strength from the deepest parts of us.
To choose better for ourselves.
To break away from whatever false beliefs chain us to a version of ourselves we no longer believe in.
To bloom.

I choose to bloom.

I choose to bloom so boldly that you cannot trace back my roots.

I choose to bloom so fully that you’ll assume I was one of the lucky ones, the chosen ones with roots so divine, they cease to really exist.

I choose to bloom so fiercely that you’ll be so enthralled by the present, you won’t have time to think about my roots at all.

I choose to bloom.

Do you?