(You and the) The Cherry Blossom Trees Will Still Bloom in a Global Pandemic
I ASKED MY DAD TODAY IF THE CHERRY BLOSSOM TREES WOULD BLOOM THIS YEAR — and he said “of course.” I looked up at him from the floor of my driveway where I had been watching the bare trees to see if any pink petals were peeping from the stems and squinted my eyes. “But, Dad. They haven’t bloomed yet. Isn’t it kind of late?” I asked him skeptically. Putting his hands on his hips, exhaling, and looking around at the trees in the yard he said, “Yes, but each and every one of them — they always bloom. Give it until this week or next week. They will bloom. This one will probably go first,” he said pointing at the tree in front of us “then that one. You’ll see.” “Look at that one” he said pointing behind me. “It’s budding, the other will start to come in right after it.”
I found it hard to ever doubt my dad as he has been the voice of reason for me my entire life, but I couldn’t help but to not be sure. The world is shattering as we speak — people are forced to stay in their homes, loved ones are dying alone, and my everyday routine has been flipped upside down. Why would the trees bloom this year if everything else in the world wasn’t? These silly thoughts consumed my mind as I went for my run around the neighborhood. It wasn’t until I caught myself subconsciously inspecting the trees in my neighbor’s yard as I passed them that I realized I was being absolutely ridiculous and acknowledged to myself that my dad would be right about it all, even if I didn’t know for sure myself.
My dad, with his decades of wisdom, knows like the back of his hand that Cherry Blossom Trees bloom. That is what they do. The everlasting divine purpose of Cherry Blossom Trees is to bloom — gracefully and beautifully. The trees that sit in his yard right outside of the same house he has worked in, lived in, and enjoyed for over 20 years would never fail him. Cherry blossom Trees do not just stop blooming. They may be a little late, they may bloom at different times. Something may have changed its timed trajectory, but in due time, they always blossom when they are supposed to. They then will eventually always rain down a beautiful pink storm of petals, kissing the tops of our head and lingering onward as they sweep the ground.
This conversation about The Cherry Blossom Trees echoed through my slightly depressed and anxious brain until it pushed out the moral of the story in attempts to control the chaos living inside my head; my life as a carefree senior in college in Los Angeles had just been rocked.
The curtain was closed, the rug was dragged from up under me, and the door was shut, abruptly, on my final moments with my best friends, classmates, colleagues, and the place that I called home. The struggle to find a job and a life for myself came to a screeching halt as the economy was frozen from state-wide stay at home orders, and I was at a loss. I grieved every day for not finding something to do after graduation, sooner, knowing it would be virtually impossible to pick up the slack now, and it would only increase my overall anxiety about the situation. I suddenly felt the walls closing in on me as I heard my friends voices telling me about their dynamic new jobs or higher education programs they were planning to start in just a matter of months. Having been dragged out of independence and the time of my life and then thrown into stagnancy and loneliness seemed to amplify the voice in my head that made me feel so incredibly guilty about not having a plan for my life and feeling so down and insecure.
But a simple conversation with my dad about these damn Cherry Blossom Trees made me realize that I too am blossoming. I will not, not blossom, just because I haven’t yet or just because some of my friends and peers have blossomed fully in terms of their career paths, happiness, fitness goals, or relationships. And just because I have been delayed or will blossom in a different way does not mean that people will miss my growth and never be able to dance in my glory. Some Cherry Blossom Trees are bigger than others some Cherry Blossom Trees are smaller than others but one thing about Cherry Blossom Trees is that they grow. Sometimes they stay in the depth of winter for longer given their positioning to the sun, but eventually they grow.
If you’re anything like me right now, your life seems like it’s chaotic. Watching everyone bloom but you. You miss the feeling of people marveling at you from the ground, taking into account your divine beauty, pink petals, and fresh smell. You want to be noticed, you want so bad to be loved for your candor, but you can’t make people love you, value you, adore you, if they don’t want to. If you’re in my situation, your buds are almost there — you can feel it. You’re on the brink of something great but you just don’t know what exactly. But here’s the thing; people who have watched you blossom season after season, for years, will know that its coming, even when you resent the fact that its taking so long. The ones who are truly there for you, the ones who truly value you, know what you bring season after season, where you stand, and how deep your roots go. They watch your progress and, most importantly, doubtlessly wait on your time. That’s support. They know that growth to you is natural, and this time is no exception.
Like The Cherry Blossom Trees in my front yard, my dad has always had intense faith in my blooming process and schedule.
Growing up, he was there for as many of my engagements as he possibly could and devoted his life to making sure I thrive. I remember him picking me up from soccer practice when I was seven years old, putting me down onto the floor of the trunk, pulling my cleats off and clapping them together, making sure to dust off the dirty mud and detach the crimson and yellow leaves of fall from the bottoms. To me this was a ritual, one of which I expected. From that expectation, I relied on him to always be there and to help me — and he has. I remember my dad sitting with me at the kitchen table for hours, when I was in fourth grade, drawing and redrawing numbers to try to get across to me what the fraction in my work book was actually telling me. I remember in high school basketball, my dad sitting in the front row, silently taking note of my points, rebounds, and steals from each and every game, on a tiny notecard, so that he could monitor and document my progress over time in order to help me improve. At the end of my career he gave the box of notecards that he had kept, for me to look back on, despite being finished with the sport. I remember my dad sitting with me on a bench in the hot California sun at a college visit, helping me decide between two schools and advising me on the process of making new decisions and taking care of myself when I live on my own. I wish I could remember the specifics of that conversation but just knowing my dad flew across the country to physically be there to help me make that decision, because he knew how important it was to me, moves me.
From the moment I was born, right up until now, I have felt my dad’s burning love for who I am and who I will be. He has always believed in my growth and has done everything in his power to be a part of it. He knew how, and when, and why I would blossom before I ever did. He knew my worth and instead of hiding it from me, he showed it to me and the world through the way in which he invested in me. And so, because he loves me, I know he will never stop investing in me, always preparing me to bloom, standing nearby to encourage me to continue to do so even when I doubt myself.
So when I face this new challenge in life, as an unemployed 2020 college graduate who doesn’t know where she will be in two months due to a once-in-a-life-time-ill-timed global pandemic, I will just have to trust the man who has seen me blossom every single season. I have to trust him that it will all turn out. That when I do blossom, my petals will be unbelievably radiant, potent, and strong. So much so that I will honor everything that lives around me and serve as a pillar for the other trees that doubt their self-worth and growth.
