Today, the sky was calm, as if it had something to hide but didn’t want to say it. It even drizzled for a while, like the sky was shyly trying to tell a story.
This morning, I decided to prepare the backyard for gardening. I planned to plant vegetables—not just for daily needs, but maybe also because I missed watching something grow. Slowly, but surely.
The backyard garden had been neglected for a long time. There were still some flowers alive, but they looked like they were surviving on their own, without anyone caring.
I felt guilty, as if the garden had been knocking on my heart, but I was too busy listening to notifications on my phone.
Just a few days ago, I started tidying it up again. Relearning how to touch the soil, trying to remember how Grandma used to care for it so patiently. This garden used to belong to her. She always said it made her happy to see things growing here.
When I told her I wanted to start gardening again, Grandma smiled. A smile that seemed to say, "Finally, you remember something more real than a screen." And that was enough to make me feel that starting again was the right choice.
I was surprised by Grandma’s support. I didn’t expect her to already have soil prepared. She said it was for tidying up the edge of the fish pond, which had long looked like it had been forgotten.
Without much talk, we got to work. We carried the soil from the front yard to the back garden. I used a bucket and a makeshift trolley—one that broke down more often than it worked, but somehow, I was still proud of it.
Sweat began to trickle down, slowly, as if it wanted to join the effort too. But amidst the exhaustion, there was a quiet sense of happiness.
It felt like I was rediscovering something I’d lost. Like a new life was sprouting, one I never thought could come from a small garden and hands dirtied by soil.
Little by little, we carried it until it was all done.
It took almost an hour and a half to really finish everything. The kind of work that makes you lose track of time but leaves you feeling strangely content.
But we didn’t have the energy to tidy things up afterward. We were too exhausted, and somehow, that felt like a good enough reason to stop.
I checked on the new plants—bird’s eye chilies.
These chilies had just been transplanted from the nursery. They looked fresh, as if they were already adjusting to their new home.
I also planted a ciplukan tree (Physalis angulata). This one was intentional, grown specifically for its use as a herbal remedy.
As for its benefits, well, they say it’s good for your health.
It’s known to help lower blood sugar levels, improve immunity, and even soothe inflammation. A small but mighty gift from nature.
While taking a break, I let my imagination go wild. I pictured this place filled with flowers—beautiful ones, not the kind that wilt just because I forgot to water them for a day.
And vegetables, of course. Tomatoes, pak choi, spinach, water spinach, celery—everything you’d need to feel like a professional chef, even if you’re just making instant noodles.
I also planned to grow kitchen spices—ginger, galangal, and garlic. Things that always smell like home. But that will take some time. This place needs to be cleaned up properly first, made ready before it can welcome new life.
Regard,
@yunima