Megan-Short Story

In a small town just outside of Kwellen lived the little old lady who made the most beautiful flower arrangements. I was from a poor family with little to our name so I'd only been to an engagement worthy of her flowers just once. It was at a celebration that my father was invited to, and the flowers were all I could remember. First there was a vase, of clear crystal glass mixed with a milky sky blue. It was short and round with a gaping neck that ran around the edge like a collar. And out from the blue vase came a shower of flowers, all complimenting each other with perfect feng shui that was not only pleasing to the eye, but pleasing to the temperament. It was like those Van Gogh paintings I had seen in my art books; a mix of color and randomness that painted a bigger picture. In these flowers, I saw lilies and buttercups, forget-me-nots and chrysanthemums (all of which I had too look up in the gardening book I begged my father to buy that day). Yet from a far, I saw the ocean. I saw movement and I saw shadows and I saw emotion in those flowers. I was only seven, but I knew what I wanted to do.

That book my father bought me was like a bible to me. I practically took it wherever I went, though thinking back, I'm almost embarrassed of my obsession. Wherever I traveled, I saw the scenery and nothing more. It took me two months to have that book nearly memorized. Yet though my heart was set, it took a lot of courage to convince my father to buy me another. In the busy streets and urban life of China, it is hard to find vegetation that is more than a weed, but I knew my way around that city and it wasn't long before I had started my own garden from seeds I had secretly collected from around the village. At first, they were just flowers and leaves, nothing of interest to my sometimes ignorant father. It only took one little green squash to make him realize the value of my gardening skills. After he tasted my little squash, he bought me my second book on plant life.

Now, as the head scientific botanist of the Shao Lin University, I look back in wonder of the curious girl I used to be. Whenever my job becomes tedious, I think of the little old lady and I think of the pure excitement I felt when first viewing that flower arrangement. I never met the woman who lived near Kwellen, I'm sure she must have passed away by now, but I'll never forget the impact her flowers have made on me. Whether she knew it or not, though I like to imagine she did, she has changed lives with her flowers. That is what I'd like to do with my work, though I know I most likely never will. I suppose that's the ever constant battle of living as a scientist and living as an artist but never both. Yet her flower arrangement kept me going and I don't think I will ever forget how I felt like the ocean from looking at those flowers. And just as I saw shadows of emotions in those flowers, the little old lady shadows my own thoughts, an ever-present reminder of why I truly love what I do.