“You want?”

Every morning, as I walk to the coffee shop at the nearby estate for breakfast, I will pass a landed property with a charming garden that’s filled with many flowering plants. One particular plant never fails to catch my eye - Wrightia antidysenterica. It is always in full bloom and I will often pause for a moment just to take in the beauty of its delicate white flowers. It’s such a simple pleasure, yet it brings a quiet joy to my morning routine. 

The owner of the house is an elderly gentleman. I’ve seen him many times, tending lovingly and painstakingly to his plants. We’ve never spoken, but over time, we’ve built a silent rapport - exchanging polite nods whenever we cross paths. This morning, I saw him again, seated on a small stool as he went about pruning his plants. And I decided to engage him…

Me: Good morning! You have really lovely plants! 

Elderly gentleman (looking up with a smile): Thank you! 

Me: I really appreciate the beauty of the flowers every time I walk by - especially the Wrightia. They’re so pretty! 

Elderly gentleman (beaming with pride): You want? 

Me (caught off guard): Ermmm… no lah. My place doesn’t get much direct sunlight, and I think this plant needs quite a lot to thrive. 

Elderly gentleman (nodding in agreement): Yeah… 

Me: Alright, see you! Thanks again! 

It was such a brief and simple exchange, yet I walked away feeling unexpectedly moved by his spontaneous offer. Truth be told, I had often wondered how I might get hold of this specific plant - and whether I should pluck (no pun intended) up the courage to ask him one day. And today, he offered it to me, just like that!

In that split second, so many thoughts rushed through my mind. While a part of me was thrilled, I also felt it wasn’t quite courteous to accept. Beyond that, I knew the plant wouldn’t do well on my balcony without sufficient sunlight. Logic kicked in - and I declined. Still, I was touched by his offer. As I walk on, I kept thinking about our exchange. 

If I had said yes, how would he have given it to me? Would he propagate it through marcotting? Or would he dig it up from the ground? That’s me and my mind spinning again. But as I reflect, I’m reminded of this: Loving something doesn’t mean I must possess it. Sometimes, the best way to love something is simply to admire it from afar - letting it bloom in the place it’s meant to be. 

And that holds true for humans too.