Shoots spring out from the moist earth and poke their tiny heads exuberantly toward the sky. Something crawls by, something flies by, something stomps by, yet the shoots sing carefree songs of mirth. Shielded by the leaves of their elders, they continue to bloom and soon enter the cycle of life. Rain, Sun, and stars alike, life remains the same yet unique for all. We will all eat, sleep, and work, yet none of us will experience the same pain or joys along the way. The only blessing for us remains the friends that we make, the feelings that we share, the space that we co-habit. It is with hope that we arrive and with either despair or fulfilment depart. It is with hope that we survive. So, when the shoots are growing up together, we must accept and understand that even though each shoot has the same potential to live a perfect life, the likelihood of that is extremely slim owing to circumstance, sheer chance, and perhaps even an ability or lack of resilience.
Shoots speak a lot among themselves, annoying their elders who sway gently to the breeze and hope that they are not the ones to get trampled on or worse get eaten today. Each hour is a test and each night is a rest. Early on in their lives, the elders teach the shoots to stop doing their duty at night. Night is for rest. Hope is the only measure and rest is the real treasure, thus goes a famous adage in the world of foliage. A shoot must grow with resilience, kindness, and patience. The ones who become excited are too tender to withstand the challenges and face predators before their roots are deep enough to withstand a pull. The ones who become irate and give up, fall behind the others and soon have to forfeit things that they really need.
Once upon a time, there was a pair of light green shoots. While the pot had been nursed to give rise to several shoots, this pair had by chance, arose quite next to each other such that they could not only see each other clearly but also speak to each other during the day and whisper at night. Shoots usually are nameless, but when this pair first began speaking, they decided to call each other Yu and Mi. Mi was six hours older than Yu. Yu was a shade of dark green while Mi had a slightly lighter shade. When Yu was six weeks old, it had just begun developing the sixth level of the stem while Mi had progressed to ten. After three months, Mi began to tower over Yu such that they could no longer hear each other to converse and its shadow cast slight doubts on Yu’s heart.
One night, when the nursery was submerged in the quiet of the moon, Yu whispered, ‘Mi can you still hear me?’
There was no reply.
‘Perhaps she has grown so far tall that my voice is too feeble to reach her,’ Yu wondered aloud. ‘I tried my best to keep up with you but you have always been better. I tried Mi, I really tried but I am not as good as you.’
Still there was no reply.
‘Mi. I know I am rambling and perhaps even disrupting your sleep, yet your silence is at once peaceful yet painful. It hurts to no longer be able to hear you as if while I speak, a rose stem sinks into my bark and injures me profusely. I am by myself, I listen to my own voice, and my only hope is that perhaps you can hear me while I cannot perceive your sound any more, but only the caress of your shadow.’
Yu suddenly felt a heavy burden land upon it. It dissipated as quickly leaving behind just a sensation. It happened again, in succession. But Yu did not bend, nor it staggered. Its poise was of a stalwart. It absorbed the almost harmonic burdens again and again through the night. There was no word but somehow Yu felt as if his plea had been heard.
When morning came, and Yu arose, he found that sunlight reached his face as brightly as before. He stirred. The shadow was absent, he realized. In a panic, he began to call for Mi. Once again, there was no reply. The feeling of dread arose in Yu and he screamed for his friend.
From down below came the feeble long-drawn reply, ‘Yu. My friend. I heard you last night. I cried my heart out for you. In the morning, they deemed me as one with a weak stem. I wonder if you can hear or see me but Yu, I adore your shadow. I can see now how strongly you have grown. I guess it was never a race. You see, Yu, it was never a race.’
And down on the moist earth, Yu saw Mi’s reduced stem. Two green stories on a bed of crimson with an eternity of hope and a journey in resilience.
Ink Idle 
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