Being an outsider brings forth the privilege of undisturbed observation. The foreground of Clarence Street undergoes swift repaints, yet against the backdrop, every element remains under the tenuous authority of extravagance. The Steam Room lures its customers in by that envy of the alchemist-the aroma of freshly ground coffee. Bathed in the alluring ambience of a Parisian cafe, its smartly-dressed crowd spoil themselves in a heated exchange about romantic love and political reforms. Across the street, a young beauty arrives in an automobile as black as her evening dress, beguiling all guests with her unintentional charm. A momentary silence upon their retrieval is quickly replaced by the chatter of students in graduation gowns. Their caps dance up and down in anticipation of that liberating toss into the air. What a perfect scene, only if it can last forever. “Oh, it’s a pretty little cosmos flower!” An elderly couple snapped me out of my ruminations. Embarrassed by their unusual admiration, I cannot help but wonder: why pay attention to a petty little wildflower if such exciting things lie ahead?
If youth is illustrated on a stretch of canvas, this scenery of Clarence Street captures its essence brilliantly: we are all fully immersed in appealing and grandiose things such as career fulfilment, political change and finding our soulmate. Naturally, it is extremely rare to delight in some plain, petty cosmos flowers blooming on one side of the road. However, it is difficult to be left entirely indifferent by them after the age of fifty. As we will have tumbled over this confusing mess called life, we will be forced to bow over in submission to what we cannot achieve, as well as to the naïve folly of our younger selves. Without our realisation, the destruction of these utopian bubbles will humble us and drag our vision back to the somewhat imperfect, yet a completely concrete, reachable present. With a subconscious and wise change in perspective, these purple wildflowers may start to seem somewhat different: no longer a petty distraction from a mighty destiny and an insult to ambition, but a genuine pleasure amidst a litany of troubles, an invitation to bracket anxieties, and a small resting place for hope in a sea of disappointment. This newfound ability of ours to seek consolation in simple things earns us the appropriate quality termed gratitude, or more deservingly: wisdom.
I used to be baffled by my parents’ obsession with plants and tea. When asked to share the pleasure, I rolled my eyes and whispered to myself, “This is old people’s stuff.” Looking at their close-up photos of a lily next to a clay pot, I attributed their intense liking of these “boring” objects to lack of ambitions and refusal to pursue something better. Why don’t they socialise and meet new people? Don’t you feel embarrassed that your Instagram is filled with the same kind of dull pictures? It turns out that sometimes we have to be answered the hard way: I used to place all my hope in the future, thinking that when my grand wishes come true, I will be happy. However, that day never came. It took me a long time to accept that expecting everything to perfect is the equivalent of day-dreaming, and the only way to move forward is to first appreciate the simple delights we already have at hand. Next time when I run into some cosmos flowers, I may snap a picture and post it on Instagram with a caption that says “What a nice day!”
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