Something Different

A Short -But Extremely True- Autobiography


Stephanie Ho from Pexels

Have you ever wished to be something more than you are?

Houseplant, Guest Writer

I look up at the first star in the sky and wish with all my might for life to be different. I can barely see the sky from my vantage point, but the star twinkles in the dusk. Like it’s promising me something great, but at the same time, telling me not to get my hopes up too much.

But still… the hope, the possibility of being more than I am now, fills me with ecstasy. With joy. With enthusiasm.

I turn away from the window. At least, I try to. Its remarkably hard to turn, move, or feel emotion when you’re a houseplant that nobody remembers or waters. Or even loves enough to name.

Maybelle, a tiger-striped cat leaps up beside me. She looks wistfully out the window, longing to be out there. But her owners, our owners, haven’t let her outside since she got hit by a car a year or so ago. I wonder if she, too, is wishing that she could be something more than she already is.

Weeks pass by. The moon grows, then shrinks many times, and white blankets cover the ground. Maybelle comes around no more, and I feel wisps of sadness from my owners. If Maybelle is gone, which she seems to be, then I shall shed no tears for her. Not that I could anyway-I’m a plant. But she knocked me over a thousand times if she did once.

So the stars lie. I wished, I wished with all my might, to be something different. But I am not. I am still what I have always been: a plant. I was never given wings or legs.

And now I will never get my wings… I have been forgotten for so long that my time is up. The last life in my stalks and roots is fading away, and soon I shall be nothing but trash.

Is living and dying forgotten the fate of a houseplant?
So it seems.