Uncertainty can be beautiful
RETURNING home one Sunday, I found one of my plants, a Monstera andansonii, with half of its leaves drooping limply.
I was upset because the plant, commonly known as Swiss cheese for the distinctive holes in its leaves, was one of the first I had bought when I started gardening in May. It was both my largest and healthiest plant, producing one new leaf without fail every two weeks.
And just earlier that day, before leaving my flat, I had checked on my plants and there was nothing seemingly wrong with them.
Turning to my mother, I ask if it had rained that afternoon.
“No, I don’t think so,” she says. Pausing, she adds: “But today the town council was washing the corridors.”
I never figured out what happened to my Swiss cheese plant – whether its leaves had gone limp after being hit by a blast of water, or if it was because its narrow stem could no longer support the weight of 10 large leaves.
Just as I was about to despair, three days later, my plant was back to normal after I moved it to a sunnier location and sprinkled it with water.
Plants are an enigma, I have found, and are hard to predict and difficult to tame.
Friends who garden have told me how even succulents and money plants, which have a reputation for being difficult to kill, have wilted under their care.
And yet I see many roadside flowers and small trees thriving, even though they are exposed to the elements and do not receive the same fastidious attention that house plants are showered with.
As a person who dislikes uncertainty, it never occurred to me that I would one day pick up gardening and enjoy it.
Being able to predict outcomes is reassuring and I plan everything, from which new restaurant Iwanttotrytothe stories I am working on, weeks in advance.
Though this tendency helps me keep my life on track, it can be a hindrance sometimes.
For instance, the nature of my job as a journalist makes it difficult to anticipate what new developments will occur.
If I am too rigid in how I respond to such situations, which are often filled with unknowns, I will not be able to react quickly and decisively.
When I started this job two years ago, I initially found it difficult to adjust to last-minute assignments which are both unpredictable and urgent. Over time, I have learnt to accept these stories as part of the job and no longer find them that stressful.
While my job is a big part of how I have developed a greater tolerance for uncertainty, gardening has given me a new perspective on it too.
It was the first hobby I picked up without much preparation.
For my other hobbies, such as rollerskating or making jewellery, I had watched hours of Youtube videos before committing to them. However, my interest in gardening blossomed slowly, as I watched more of my friends jump onboard the Covid-19 pandemic trend.
A newspaper report in July 2020 said more people were turning to gardening especially after many employees began working from home due to the Covid-19 pandemic.
In June 2020, to encourage people to grow their own produce at home, Singapore’s National Parks Board launched the Gardening with Edibles initiative, distributing 400,000 free packets of seeds for leafy vegetables and fruit vegetables.
Plants can brighten one’s home and provide a much needed connection to nature. And they do not cost much, with most of my plants costing between S$5 and S$20 (RM16 and RM64). Though I was aware of all these considerations, it was actually a spontaneous choice which led me to buy my first plant: One day in May, I had seen a recipe for tomato basil pasta online and wanted fresh basil leaves so I could make the dish. Unable to find any in the supermarkets near me, I decided to walk to a plant nursery 10 minutes away from where I live and bought a pot of Thai basil instead.
But after bringing it home, I realised I did not know how often to water, prune it and keep it free from pests.
Though I found Youtube videos and articles online, none of them provided conclusive advice. Some said I should water it thrice a week, others only once. I would soon learn that for plants, even if a rule of thumb for how to care for them exists, you will likely find out what their needs only through trial and error.
Five months on, though I have killed three of the nine plants I have owned, I have not looked back.
My failures have given me insight into how plants can thrive under different temperature, moisture, lighting and ventilation conditions.
And even when I accidentally kill a plant, knowing that I did my best to keep it alive has strengthened my self-compassion, which helps me navigate uncertainty with an open heart.
In the case of my Thai basil, I believed it to be safe from most pests, because I live in a high-rise flat. I never expected that a tussock moth would fly 11 storeys up and lay eggs that hatched into caterpillars, which devoured half of my plant in one sitting.
The death of my first plant made me realise that while there will always be situations we cannot foresee, embracing them with good cheer and humour instead of selfblame can help us cope better.
Sometimes, uncertainty can also be beautiful – an unexpected discovery I have made through gardening.
One of my plants, a philodendron pink Congo, has multi-coloured leaves. Unlike my Swiss cheese plant, it does not grow as quickly, but when a new leaf unfurls, I am always very excited, to guess whether it will be pink, white or green.
For me, gardening has shown me how uncertainty can be a source of personal growth and beauty.
Many fellow home gardeners have also benefited from this hobby, with some sharing in Facebook interest groups how they have developed qualities such as patience and perseverance as a result of tending to their plants.
If you have ever wanted to grow your own herbs, flowers, or decorative plants, I highly encourage you to give it a try.
Gardening is full of surprises – both good and bad – but I think that is what makes the journey so fruitful. – The Straits Times/asia News Network
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