Dandelion

by CCZH

“Only the wind knows where it will carry our dandelion souls.”

The crickets were singing, their indecipherable chorus ringing in my ears. They seemed to carry a message, some ancient insect dogma far beyond my human understanding. It was a quiet afternoon, one that brought with it much-needed respite. Choa Chu Kang Park was where I decided to spend my idle hours. After all, its quaint beauty had always struck a chord with me. Notebook in hand, I hoped that the peacefulness surrounding me would alleviate my writer’s block. In my notebook lay dozens of unfinished pieces, each one a fragment of a lost time. Some of them oozed anger, others nascent hope, albeit hope that was never nurtured to fruition. I know of people who pin their writer’s block on a lack of inspiration, but I pin mine on perfectionism. Irritated at my lack of progress, quality progress, to be precise, I tore up my latest piece. To my horror, my violent movements sent shreds of paper sailing into the wind.

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Closing my eyes, I exhaled. Streams of seeds erupted from what was once a flowery globe, strips of white bleeding into the wind. They melted into the orange horizon, free at last. Pastures new awaited them. A fresh start. A new home. A place to start their new lives, and give birth to yet more. Brave seeds they were, forging onward, embracing their unknown destinies.

——

I’ve always wanted my words to go on air, but the situation I found myself in was a tad too literal. Shaken by the prospect of a hefty fine – Singapore takes a tough stand against littering – I chased after my tattered work. The looming sun illuminated each shred of paper, and for a moment, I was taken aback by the beauty before me. Swirling with the evening wind, spirals of written word danced before my eyes.

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It was beautiful.

——

It was beautiful.

——

Before long, every last piece fluttered beyond my farthest reach. I stood agape, overwhelmed by a sudden heaviness. I muttered a solemn goodbye, and walked back the way I came. As the sky gradually darkened, I came to a sudden realisation. Pieces of me were out there, scattered by my own hand. They would grow, they would preach, and they would live to tell their own stories. Before I could organise my newfound thoughts, I was struck by yet another realisation. I had a story to tell.

CCZH