Lemon Tsupryk Q1 #1: Polka-Dot Plant
In the past year or so I’ve been trying to keep my houseplants alive. I’m better at it than I used to be, but not by much. This one plant, in particular, is giving me problems: my seven-year-old phyllostachya.
Over its entire toddler-aged lifespan it has died at least four separate times, having to regrow itself anew from its roots. The stubborn thing follows the same pattern again and again: sprouting, growing upward as far as it can go, flowering with its spiteful purple flowers, and then dying again. I can’t seem to do anything about it.
Sometimes in my exasperation I want to give up trying to save it from itself, but I always end up thinking of how I’ve definitely done this sort of thing too. I reach towards something new, becoming leggy—the actual term for when a plant spends so much energy reaching towards light that it stretches itself too thin—and subsequently growing out of whatever phase it was that had captivated me.
My best friend of many years (I have known her for longer than I have had my willful phyllostachya) says she has been the same exact person for her entire life, from kindergarten to high school. Yet the overall consensus anywhere I look is that identity is an ever-shifting thing, ripples in the watering can. I am like that; I see very clear dividing lines between the people I have been. All the cycles of sprouting, growing, flowering, and dying I have been through, if you will. Are there really two distinct types of people in this world, ones who reinvent themselves and ones who nurture who they have always been? I went searching for an answer.
And I found it, in an article published three years ago by the New Yorker which asks the question: “Are you the same person you were when you were a child?”
It briefly brings up the lives of two separate people both named Tim, and their situations mirror my friend and I’s with surprising precision. One Tim, the writer’s stepfather, “is sure that he’s had the same jovially jousting personality from two to seventy-two” while the other, a friend from high school, “sees his life as radically discontinuous." And while the writer, Joshua Rothman, discusses how Tim number one is one of the most self-consistent people he knows, and Tim number two suddenly transformed into a radically different person out of high school and has worked many different jobs, he concludes their story with how one still experienced growth of character and the other found consistency in constant change.
Funnily enough, I also found a plant metaphor in the article. Quoting John Stuart Mill, Rothman brings up how people develop like trees, growing on all sides and being heavily dependent on their environment, benefiting from “a little judicious pruning here and there” while still maintaining a consistent growing trajectory.
Hi Lemon, your blog was beautifully reflective and poetic. I liked how you used your plant as both a metaphor and a mirror for your own cycles of growth. It made your blog feel very personal but relatable. I enjoyed reading your take on the contrast of change and consistency in identity. I also like the plant imagery throughout your blog. I enjoyed how you compared the life cycle of plants to the life cycle of adolescence, as we, like plants, are very dependent on our environments, but could also benefit from some pruning. Your blog helped me prune my brain a bit. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteHi Lemon! I truly love the way you connected your houseplant's stubbornness and regrowth to your own life. The idea of being "leggy" really interested me. It captured how easily we can get lost trying to achieve something new and later realize you've bit off more than you can chew. Especially this year, with both school and wanting to be really involved in everything that comes my way I feel incredibly "leggy." Like your plant, I hope to grow out of it soon and maybe learn to say no more (you could call it pruning). Lastly, I hope your phyllostachya stays healthy and doesn't cause you too much trouble. Thank you so much for sharing.
ReplyDeleteHi Lemon! I enjoyed the way that you talked about the constant cycle of the life and death of your plant in this post. I really clung to the part about how when it seems that your plant is at its best in health (flowers sprouting), it just seems to die right after that. I can personally relate to the Tim who has transformed into different people throughout his life, as I'm sure you relate to! I think that you using your plant as a comparison to different phases of life is brilliant, and I'm hoping that your plant isn't causing you any trouble as of late!
ReplyDeleteHi Lemon! I love the poignant and reflective tone of your blog, but I must digress, the title of your blog is really interesting! I searched up what a phyllostachya is because it was a long fancy word, and after seeing the result, I now understand why your post is called “Polka-Dot Plant”— it’s named after the phyllostachya! I think it’s really fitting given how central the phyllostachya is in your blog, and how unique the title is. Going back to the tone, I’m struck by how poignant and poetic it is. It made me feel something (it’s kind of a sad, sentimental feel, I can’t describe it too well), which I really appreciate.
ReplyDeleteLemon, when you said “consistency in constant change” I think you mispronounced it, I’ve heard they pronounce it “Ath-arv” now. Seriously though, that really really resonated with me, and I’m definitely like you in the fact that I also have cycles/phases. I love gardening too! What other plants do you grow? I used to grow tomatoes, basil, mint (a bunch of basic plants since I didn’t have a backyard) before I moved here. I had a stubborn plant like that too, I remember searching it up and my 12 year old self being so worried, but it always regrew in the spring.
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