Photo by Scott Webb on Unsplash

I’ve always loved plants.

It started as a fascination for beautiful flowers like tulips and pansies, which developed into an appreciation for all things green as I got older.

For the longest time, however, my high regard for plants was limited to looking at them — never caring for them. I once bought a little prickly cactus succulent which shrank some two to three weeks after I bought it. My next plant — a gift — withered and died also. Since then, I decided that I wouldn’t take care of plants.

But then we started fixing the house, and I got a new desk with three tiers of shelves on the side. While browsing through Pinterest for room inspiration, I got an idea of how nice it would look if a plant were to sit on my topmost shelf.

So I took that first step and got a zebra succulent plant. And it thrived. Despite my apprehension to care for a succulent, I decided to give it a go.

A few weeks later, when I had the zebra succulent’s watering schedule pinned down, I ordered a second plant, an oxalis (purple shamrock/wood sorrel), that I thought to keep on the floor by my desk. It arrived a few days later. An oxalis plant, I read — and the seller told me — isn’t that high maintenance. It often grows out in gardens and can survive even if you just leave it alone. It requires a lot of sunlight, however, so if I was going to leave one beside my desk, I had to take it out at least once a week.

My first few weeks with the oxalis were such a struggle. Its leaves were constantly wilting. It seemed like ants and other pests liked nestling between its dying leaves. And I had my suspicions that a mouse around the house had nibbled off some of its leaves.

When I had tried everything and nothing worked, I contacted the person who had sold me the oxalis, and he gave me tips on how to make it flourish again.

I will be honest: when the oxalis was struggling, its leaves all brown and wilted, I was tempted to throw it out and begin again with a new plant. It would be easier, I thought, to ask the plant seller for the same plant, than to take care of a dying plant and revive it from the ashes.

But life often requires that you work with what you have. And sometimes what you have is less than ideal, often a little bruised and withered, but never discardable.

If I had given up, I would have missed out on the thrill I felt when I saw new leaves peeking out of the soil. If I had given up, I would have missed out on the slow but steady journey of getting my wilted oxalis to where it is today — a little bit more perked up with pretty white flowers peeking through rich purple leaves. Too often do we discard what isn’t exactly broken; too often do we look for a quick fix for the problems we have at hand, instead of being patient and seeing them through.

Keeping the oxalis, however, required pruning — cutting off the leaves that had become brown and withered. When an oxalis has leaves that are affected — by rust, mites, parasites, and whatever else — I learned that it is best to remove the part that is rotten before it affects the rest of the leaves. Is it the same with other plants? I don’t know. Is it the same with life? Sometimes.

Unfortunately, a few months ago, I decided to re-pot my first plant — the zebra plant. Or rather, ask someone to re-pot it. That was my mistake — and another lesson. Just because someone knows a great deal about some plants doesn’t mean that their knowledge can always apply to other plants.

Succulents, like my zebra plant, I learned, have extremely sensitive roots which you shouldn’t overwater. Which is why you just put a few tablespoons of water every two weeks or so. You can’t even wet its roots and leaves, and should you accidentally wet its leaves, you need to wipe off the water quickly.

When I asked someone to re-pot my plant, they saw that the soil was dry and dumped boatloads of water on both the plant and the soil. Imagine my horror. I tried to protest, but I was too slow, my words too late.

The first few days were days of waiting in breathlessness to see if the plant would make it. And it looked like it would hold out. But on the third day, the scales tipped, and tragedy came pouring out.

My zebra plant’s leaves became mushy and soft. At the end of the week, its once vibrant green leaves were a dull green and brown, and the plant could no longer stand upright. Based on my research on Google, I knew I had to remove the plant from the pot to try to salvage it by drying the roots out before replanting them. But the re-potter said no and that it may not have been overwatered, that the cause for the plant dying could have been the shock of moving to a new pot. But I knew better.

Today, I’m back to just one plant, my oxalis. It is flourishing pretty well, although it still seems to have a mite problem (I’m working on solving that). I don’t have my zebra plant anymore, though I’ve kept its pot filled with soil by my desk.

Partly in hopes that its roots are still sleeping and that one day it will wake up. Partly as a reminder that this would not have happened if I had spoken up sooner, louder. You see, we tend to cave in the presence of others, of people who we feel have more know-how than we do. But sometimes, we possess knowledge that is enough. In those moments, we need to learn to speak up, to let our voices be heard. Despite our youth and inexperience, there is still something we can bring to the table — or rather, the pot.