Of avocados and love relationships

I let go of something today."Avocado pit" by Maria Keays

During the first week of June, I challenged my green thumb by trying to grow an avocado tree from a seed.

Not much of a challenge you may argue and you would be right, if only I hadn’t attended gardening lessons at Attila’s course (There, where I have passed, the grass will never grow again, Attila the Hun).

I’m known for my very poor skills in cultivating plants of any kind. But, since I proved to make my cyclamen survive since last winter till summer, driven by the enthusiasm of this almost-impossible mission accomplished, I set the bar a little higher and switched from flowers that were already in bloom when they were given to me, to the idea of growing a 60 foot tree starting from a two inches spherical seed.

In case you don’t know, I’m also known for a one-of-a-kind ability of REALLY setting the bar HIGHER.

Anyway, last June, after having eaten my nutrient-rich avocado, I carefully cleaned its pit, pierced it with toothpicks and placed it on a glass dunking half of it in water. I changed the water every week and monitored the changes on its brown skin every single day.

In case you don’t know, I’m also known for a pretty good ability in following tutorials I find on the internet.

I placed the glass near to my cyclamen, behind a sunny window, wishing on some sort of positive influence. I was hoping that the lucky flowers could instill trust in the avocado pit, something like: “Hey, if we’ve made it till summer, it will be a piece of cake for you to just drop a root”.

Tutorials all over the web suggest that a first root should appear 8 weeks later.

Since 8 weeks later the avocado pit still gave no sign of outgrowth, I did something else I’m very good at: I persevered.

Changed the water every week, made sure light was shining through the window, constantly checked the awaited progress and even spent few words of encouragement to infuse a bit of confidence in that little brown ball.

2 weeks later (10 weeks since day #1) I left for my summer vacation. The custody of the avocado pit was given to my father, who received very precise guidance on how to change the water, make sure light was shining through the window and check for the awaited progress. I didn’t ask him to pep talk to my little avocado-to-be, but I can’t rule out the possibility that it may have happened anyway.

10 days later (11 weeks and 3 days since day #1) I got back from my summer vacation: changed the water, looked at the sunlight flooding the room, said hi to the most stubborn seed I’ve ever met and checked for any progress. Still no news.

So I persevered for another couple of days.

Today (11 weeks and 5 days after day #1) I picked the half-submerged pit with three fingers, looked at it from every possible angle, certifying that nothing that could even slightly resemble a root was present, I dried it with some paper and threw it away.

I did everything that I was able to do in order to nurture it and make something happen. Yet, nothing happened.

I took care of it, I trusted and genuinely rooted for it. Yet, nothing happened.

As childish as it may sound, I still feel a bit bad for letting it go. But I had to.

And while throwing it away, I realized that I had to, the same way I have to let go of all those relationships that won’t be able to put down roots or blossom. Ever.

You know, I’m also known for being single. Very single. Single since anybody can remember, with the only exception of a very brief period I’ve already extensively written about.

But given the fact that, even if most of the times I make it unnoticeable, I have feelings, needs, hormones and all the rest still up and running, I happen to like someone from time to time.

I happen to look at this guy after I’ve generally been dealing with him for a few months and suddenly realize that I would love to hold his hand, let myself go into his hug, be asked out, smile with him, have fun with him, feel his body touch mine and all that dirty stuff that usually follows, but that I’m going to censor here, just because I’m also known for being a good girl.

I usually silently fall for the guy and spend the following months, very often the following years, fancying about him, dying to cross his sight, wishing he’ll finally see me, notice me and tell me that he feels the same way.

I usually start caring about him, being as supportive as I can and rejoicing for every single moment spent together. I’ll be available for any need, I’ll be nice, I’ll be protective.

Sometimes he won’t even notice how much I really like him, sometimes he will.

In both cases, he won’t give any sign of reciprocity, the relationship won’t give any sign of outgrowth. He’ll be nice to me, but not in that way.

And I’ll do what I’m good at: I’ll persevere.

I’ll persevere in wishing some romantic miracle will happen between us, I’ll persevere in daydreaming about our life together, our family together, our future together.

And I’ll persevere in feeling mortified every time I realize there’s nothing in him that could resemble an interest in me. I’ll persevere feeling stupid, hurt and unlovable, every time he’ll tell stories of his life without ever asking me to be part of it. I’ll persevere in hating myself every time I’ll discover that the guy has met the girl of his life (or maybe just the one to spend next Christmas with) and that the girl is not me.

Well, I’ve let go of something today, while throwing away the symbol of a love I was ready to give, but that did not bring to any result.

September is coming and a new season is approaching. I wish next autumn could give me the ability to discern seeds that are willing to blossom and the wisdom to let go of those that won’t be able to bloom.

 


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