Watching the cherry blossom petals leave the once full tree, I’ve come to realize something. Military kids are similar to flowers. Like flowers, there are different types of military kids: Navy, Army, Air Force, Marine Corps, Coast Guard, Space Force. And wherever life plants us, we attempt to bloom beautifully because, unlike grass, we have the power to do just that-- bloom.
Bloom. A simple word to define the beauty of a flower, but a difficult process in and of itself.
I used to be a flower, but I wilted into just an ordinary piece of grass. Despite living in California, the sunniest state was useless in letting me bloom. Because I was just a piece of grass-- no petals, no beauty. Just ordinary.
Without the sun, water, and constant change, that’s what I was. At least, that’s what I thought. After becoming a piece of grass, the possibility of becoming a flower again seemed unlikely.
Impossible even. But impossible can always become possible when it comes to the military.
I thought that I could never be a flower ever again-- that I could never bloom again.
Until one day, my mother told me we’d be moving overseas to a garden.
Korea. South Korea. This news was the scariest to me. Of course, I’ve been to overseas gardens before-- I’ve spent half of my life there.
But that was when I was a flower.
Standing in a crowded airport, the feeling that I once knew rushed over me. Fear sprouted from my roots, my heart fluttered with anxieties. My packed bags turned into soil and my salty tears turned into water, but the goodbyes that left my mouth turned into just another sad song.
And then, I felt lost. Desperately searching for myself, throughout the foreign streets. Climbing up the hills of my emotions, I felt like I couldn’t be a daffodil again.
I don’t think reality set in for a while. Because, in my mind, flowers bloom, wilted flowers don’t. I had already bloomed, already wilted-- I didn’t need to go to yet another garden. It didn’t make any sense. I didn’t want it to make sense. But just because you convince yourself it’s not true, doesn’t mean it isn’t.
So as I stare at the cherry blossoms falling, a question plants itself in my head. Can I, a piece of grass, learn to bloom again in a field of flowers?
I like to think that I can. That I can still bloom.