“Even death is not to be feared by one who has lived wisely.”
— Buddha
Why is it so challenging for us humans to confront the inevitable reality of death? Take a moment to observe—countless species experience their existence within a fleeting moment. Consider flowers such as the hibiscus or ‘Chinese rose,’ which flourish at dawn only to fade away by dusk. During my time in San Pancho, I was struck by the varied forms and colors of hibiscus, thriving vigorously with minimal maintenance. They are omnipresent, cascading over streets and cluttering the balconies of nearly every residence. The oppressive heat mirrors the blistering summers I dreaded in China, enveloping me like an unyielding steam bun. Sweat cascades down my cheeks. There is no reprieve from the stifling humidity, pressing down with the weight of a malfunctioning sauna. Here, paved roads are a rarity; instead, one traverses earthy trails. Dense jungle vegetation encircles you, and with each step, wildflowers bloom defiantly in obscurity.
I’ve been resisting the urge to chop them up and drag them home, but why? Every morning brings a new hibiscus flaunting its beauty. The dread of losing something so gorgeous has wrapped me in a wave of nostalgia. I can’t bear the thought of parting with a sunset or a butterfly. Each farewell leaves me with a splitting headache and a chest that feels like it might explode. You never know when it’s the final goodbye. You never know when you’ll get the chance to patch things up after an explosive argument. You never know when you’ll have that chat you just can’t avoid.
I have carried a deep-seated fear of losing those I love throughout my life, and then that moment inevitably arrived. The days that followed were marked by a heaviness in my chest and a strange numbness in my fingertips. I found myself neglecting small routines, like brushing my teeth, and pulling at my own hair in frustration. The vibrant colors of flowers and the beauty of the sky faded from my awareness, and I felt an ache of sorrow for the happiness of others.
Nature serves as a profound source of healing. In the absence of the comforting support provided by religion, individuals often find themselves confronting the harsh realities of grief. Motivational speeches tend to be merely hollow phrases intended to provide solace. Likewise, holistic treatments frequently fall short of their promised comprehensiveness. Well-wishes can be perceived as superficial expressions from acquaintances who lack a true understanding of one’s pain. However, nature, with its profound wisdom, does not engage in trivialities; it honors one’s journey, offering no pressure, no judgment, and no sense of failure. Life is undeniably brief; it must not only be about accepting the unavoidable, but also about confronting the fundamental realities of existence.
What in the beginning seemed unthinkable became increasingly real. I went back to painting after 30 years, a decision that felt both exhilarating and daunting. I started drawing with the finesse of a kindergarten kid, my hands trembling with uncertainty as I picked up the brush once again. It was highly frustrating to see how my skills had eroded over time, each stroke reminding me of the artistry I once possessed. However, given I had so much time on my hands, I thought, what the hell? I gave it a try, allowing myself to make mistakes and embrace the imperfections. I can say with all sarcasm that art won’t be a career path for me, as my creations often resemble abstract interpretations more than anything coherent. Yet, it is, though, a chance to reconnect with myself, providing a meditative space where I can explore my thoughts and emotions.
This is my inner child, a free spirit who reveled in the stunning colors and rich textures of life. She was unafraid to lose herself in exploration and creativity. The audacious student who graced Design School, head shaved in defiance, lost herself in the raw sounds of The Pixies. She boldly exchanged her mum’s meticulously tailored suits for a pair of iconic Dr. Martens, embracing her vibrant personality as she challenged the status quo and stood fiercely against injustice, prioritizing the fight over her privilege. I owe it all to her and my sister. It’s not about chasing the elusive concept of ‘happiness’—that mirage simply doesn’t exists. It’s about living with what I have.
Nature, the jungle, flowers, and wilderness are not mere terms of a glossary; they embody life and infuse magic into a world on the brink of decay—my world. I have everything to gain by embracing my wild and disruptive spirit, unapologetically like a hibiscus.
The little Flâneuse journal 