31/05/2025
I was never really a flower person. But ever since I came to Japan, something changed. I began to notice the kind of flowers that most people overlook—the ones that grow quietly by the roadside, between cracks in the pavement, or beside busy sidewalks. Not the kind you put in a fancy bouquet. These flowers live through it all.
The wind howls. The summer heat burns. People step on them, kick them, barely even notice them. But still—they bloom. Still, they stand. Still, they grow.
And they do so beautifully.
They don't beg for attention. They don’t need validation. Somehow, they know their worth. They know that even in silence, even in hardship, they are becoming something strong and resilient.
And I see myself in them.
I’ve been through storms too. Life has kicked me down, ignored me, and tested my strength in ways I never imagined. But like those wildflowers, I’m still here. Still growing. Still blooming. Even when no one sees it. Even when no one says “You’re doing great.”
Like those flowers, I’ve learned to find strength in quiet growth. I’ve learned that my value isn’t determined by where I’m planted—but by how I rise, again and again.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m finally learning to love myself the way I’ve learned to love those flowers—flawed, unseen by many, but deeply, quietly beautiful.
