The Dying Rose🥀

INTRODUCTION

Memories tend to follow you all of your life, never fading, and will forever linger in your mind.

Looking back to when I was a growing sprout, I never realized how quickly one's life can change. One moment, you are skipping through a field of beautiful tulips, and soon, an unexpected snowstorm hits, wiping away the vibrant tulips.

And so is life, changes, an inevitable outcome, good or bad.

As a child, change felt terrifying and confusing. I guess the movies lied about love.

I grew up believing in the fairy-tale version of love and family. But reality had other plans.

A family is the foundation of an individual’s life and a key pillar of society. It often dictates one's education level, wealth, class and beliefs.

Mine was a typical middle-class family, and weekends were always filled with moments that felt like pure joy.

I remember the excitement of shopping trips, the thrill of amusement park rides, the magic of cinema nights, and the warmth of Christmas parties.

Those memories still shine in my mind—filled with laughter, warmth, and the kind of happiness I once believed would last forever.

I loved each member of my family, but my father played a crucial role in shaping who I am today.

He sparked my love for writing, feeding my imagination with books and encouraging me to dream. Every time he returned from work, he brought me new books—stories to explore, worlds to lose myself in. He always reminded me to write my own.

"There is power in a writer's pen"

He tried to spark the same passion in my siblings, but they never shared his love for stories. That made me feel special—like we had something just for us, a bond made through words and imagination. I believed he would always support my dreams, nurturing them like a gardener tending to his favourite bloom, standing as my sun.

But then, winter came.

Winter Struck❄️

Winter is a season of endings, loss, and death. Like the flower's petals withering as it's carried away in the air.

A day came - a moment forever etched in me.

A day that shattered my illusion of a perfect family.

I don’t remember everything clearly, only pieces.

The murmurs, the tension, and the sudden cry of voices.

The fight.

The emotional weight of the day pressed down on me like an anvil.

After that, the things I heard about my father left me stunned. Disappointed. Heartbroken.

Why would he do such a thing?

The divorce process came, shifting my view of romance and love.

The fairytales, the Disney movies, and the happily ever after - they weren't real.

A foolish delusion.

Romance, family and Marriage weren't as beautiful or certain as they wanted us to believe.

You can never truly know someone, not even the person you build a life with.

A marriage certificate doesn’t promise forever or a stable life.

Bad things happen to good people.

And the man who once nurtured my dreams, who lifted me, who watered my garden—

Was the same man who uprooted it, leaving behind thorns that still cut deep.

Why Stomp on a Beautiful Flower?🌹

I grew to resent my father—how could I not?

After everything I had heard about him.

Even during my moments of perfect bliss before the divorce, my mother was suffering in silence.

Enduring the weight of his darkened, weary heart just to keep our family intact.

But she had enough.

Then came the fight.

I didn’t understand.

Little me was confused.

My mother was beautiful.

Perfect.

Funny.

Kind.

Why would you stomp on and destroy something so delicate?

So vibrant?

Heads turned when she walked down the street.

She was the kind of woman people noticed and admired.

And yet, you had her—this rare, radiant flower—and you still didn’t care for her properly.

That made me mad.

It was one thing to break a child’s heart.

But to stomp her?

She didn’t deserve it.

And I wanted nothing to do with him.

The typical court ruling came.

My mom won custody of my siblings and me.

It’s not like he even fought for us.

He moved out—alone.

And he deserved it.

Soon, he started visiting, trying to take us to the cinemas, parks, and all the places we used to go.

Back when we were actually a family.

But it wasn’t the same.

I tried to act like before, to pretend nothing had changed.

But resentment still grew in my heart.

It didn’t matter where he took us.

It didn’t matter how expensive the gifts were.

He was the one who created this broken family.

He was the one who made me watch my mother cry.

The images of her pain are still vivid in my mind.

Eventually, I started refusing to go.

I told my siblings to lie for me.

"I’m sick."

"I have an event at school."

He believed me.

At least, I hope he did.

Instead, I stayed home with my mom.

I’d sit in her room while she did her makeup, chatting with her about anything and everything.

But the sad thing is—

As much as I loved her,

I had nothing in common with her.

She was outgoing, social, and full of life.

I was quiet, reserved—

Just like my father.

And that terrified me.

I was an identical version of him.

I looked like him. I behaved like him.

When I was little, people would say it all the time.

And it made me happy.

I was a Daddy’s girl.

But now, when I heard it—

It scared me.

Would I turn out like him?

 A Thorn to My Roots🥀

Despite everything,

I miss him.

And I hate it.

No matter how much I think about ways to fix this,

There’s nothing that can mend a relationship already shattered.

Despite rarely being here,

He has influenced my life in countless ways.

And that cannot be erased.

He was the one who gave me the gift of writing,

and that’s something I’ll carry forever.

I still see glimpses of him in me today.

My quietness.

My anger.

My emotional distance.

My beliefs.

All aligned with him.

I catch myself reading like him,

smiling like him,

joking like him.

It’s eerily familiar.

And that is my greatest fear—

Becoming like him.

Being a thorn from the same roots.

A reminder of where I came from,

No matter how much I try to be different,

His shadow still lingers in me—

Like a thorn, I cannot pull out.

Flower rooted from the garden 🪴

1. No flower uprooted cannot remove thorns.

Tasks to carry out

Write a new ending for a painful memory

Someone left without closure; what would you say if you had the chance