I feel pointless. Right now in this spec of a time, I give up. Actually the whole day I felt it coming. 12 noon hit, and I thought—dam, today is the low dip. At everything. Today I hit low. I am sad. Today I feel sad. Accepted. So I reached out to the almighty mama bird. Straight away. “I give up.” She tells me it’s okay. Of course. It’s okay to feel sad. It’s normal to be down and outright lost. Without the low, there is no high. I get it. I accept. But I have no emotions to express that I get it. In fact, I have no emotions at all today. I’m not thinking about anything. I am just empty. My thoughts aren’t bombarded either and my shoulders aren’t tight. This is stress. I am not stressed. I am sad. But the more I keep saying and writing that word “sad,” the less I feel it connects truly to what I am feeling. I need to put it in a story.

Imagine yourself a plant. You were born as a seed in the wonderful terrains of Spain. Your germinating years were fruitful. You were watered and fed like a spoilt little shit. But throughout these baby stages all you wanted to do was touch the Sun. You twisted and stretched and taught yourself how to grow. You learnt new things that translated into new leaves. Suddenly you had three leaves and the next year you grew a few more. All leaves now are turning bright green and oozing with sun rays. Your stem is furry. The days go by, and yet your aim still shoots for those gamma rays. That big yellow ball is all you want to touch.

Then one day fate comes along. Fate comes and picks you out from the soil, which bursts you into joy! You are ridiculously excited. You’ve been yearning for this day to come for way too long. Fate calls you “sunflower” and delivers you out to the world. You get transported through all sorts of different vehicles and land in a holding station. After a few days, ‘patiently waiting’ doesn’t seem to be so patient anymore. What am I doing here? What is my use here? Suddenly you start seeing all these bottled oils get transported into the next room beside you. The farmer’s friend does the moving, and suddenly he starts moving you. RIGHT into a processor! All your beautiful petals get torn and squished and pressed into thick, gloopy oil. Nothing hurts, of course; this is not about a gory story. Because your consciousness is still intact, you’re just moulded into something else. Something useful. You are now something useful—Sunflower Oil. Practical. Needed. Useful.

And that’s what I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be useful. I want to be effective. Because even if someone doesn’t use sunflower oil, they can always choose other oils. But they can never take away a sunflower’s impression from a daffodil or a rose. A sunflower has a different effect and affect. And whatever flower I end up blooming into... I want to keep blooming. Forever.

But where do I bloom? The farmers keep taking me away. What if I’m not just a sunflower? What if I’m something else entirely, still finding its shape?