When we moved to this house, I brought along with me all my potted plants. The largest one amongst them was my frangipani. When I saw the community garden, I thought it was the perfect place to replant the frangipani and let it bloom freely in the deep soil, beyond the confines of the pot. With the help of the kind gardener, I planted it next to the entrance to our block. This was back in 2022 when our dear shrub was just about a metre tall.
Last winter, with all the refurbishment and waterproofing works in the community garden, my favourite frangipani was in danger. I decided to take a chance by moving it into a large planter until they finished the repair work. Many of the larger trees with thick roots did not survive this process. They were mercilessly removed from their place.
I continued to water the frangipani through these difficult months of its confinement, with a hope that it would survive.
Last spring, when finally all the work was completed and the garden was transformed with new soil, new grasses and some new plants, my brave survivor found a fresh new opportunity to grow. With the help of the kind gardener again, I transferred my frangipani on the other side of our entrance, safely tucked away next to the balcony, from where I hoped to touch its leaves and flowers.
It's been three to four months now and our dear survivor has branched out till the balcony. I see the thick bunches of white plumeria flowers and I remember my Frangipani Fest with the other favourite frangipani trees from a year ago! Sadly, none of them are in the garden now. They did not survive…
I see Ginger and Simba, the oldest two cats from the neighbourhood very happy to have their favourite hiding places back again. However, there is no sign of our dear cat Rumi. She never returned…
But our lone survivor, Miss Frangipani has now reached the first floor, spreading her roots and branches freely. I feel so happy, she is officially a tree, who survived and is thriving, showering us with many fragrant white blossoms.
Sometimes, my life in this country feels like the frangipani in the confines of a large pot ... All these years, there was room in the pot. But now, the roots have no space to spread any more. I kept replanting myself into different kinds of pots of different shapes and colours. But there is no free space to explore. Slowly the branches, like shoulders, start to droop down; leaves, like hair, begin to fade out and solitary flowers, like aspirations, display a dejected bloom.
I am waiting to find a permanent deep moist earthy setting to call this soil my own, to confidently take root and openly spread out my branches carrying happy blossoms and birds on bright sunny hopeful days.
Aren't we all survivors of some kind?
