Passing by the market, I happened to see a papaya sapling growing in a ditch, surviving on a tiny bit of mud at the bottom. This surprised me; how could such a small amount of mud allow a papaya sapling to grow to waist height? Papayas are shallow-rooted plants; how could it not be washed away in the ditch?
I immediately thought of the approaching summer, with its many typhoons and heavy rains. If the papaya tree were washed into a river or out to sea, it would surely die.
Seeing the sapling seemingly unconcerned, thriving on the mud and the market's wastewater, filled me with compassion.
I thought of the rooftop garden, a sunny corner with organic soil from Yangmingshan. If I transplanted the papaya sapling there, it would surely thrive better than growing in the ditch. If the papaya tree could understand, it would be happy!
I asked a market vendor for a plastic bag, put the papaya and some mud inside, and planted it at home. Seeing the papaya tree alongside camellias and azaleas filled me with joy, and I imagined it bearing abundant fruit.
But to my utter surprise, the papaya tree didn't grow as well as I expected. Instead, it drooped more and more each day, and after two weeks,
it completely withered. Pulling the papaya seedling from the garden filled me with immense sorrow. Growing up in a rural environment, the withering of any plant always brings me sadness, but this papaya tree was different. If I hadn't transplanted it, it would still be standing tall and green by the market. In
the sunlit yard, I drank tea made from wild bitter melon, looking at the lush flowers and trees, and a question arose in my mind: Why did the papaya seedling prefer to grow in the mud rather than survive in the beautiful garden? Is it because when filth becomes a habit, the beautiful sunlight, soft soil, and clear water become burdens?
Several times, in the shadows of bustling city streets, I've inadvertently encountered drug addicts. They hunched over in dark corners, every cell in their bodies radiating decadence, their eyes glazed and unfocused as they gazed at the world.
I always felt an urge to run over, pat them on the shoulder, and tell them, "This world has brilliant sunshine, this world has beautiful gardens, this world has love worth pursuing, this world has things worth fighting for and dedicating yourself to."
Then, I saw the absurdity of my own actions, because for a drug addict, defilement had become a habit, decadence a way of life, almost impossible to change. And it's not just drug addicts; in major Japanese cities, there are countless "vagrants" who have given up on life, preferring to wander the streets. When they completely abandon themselves, life is beyond saving.
"Wanderers" are not "drug addicts," yet they share similarities. Drug addicts consume tangible substances and are controlled by them; "wanderers" consume intangible substances and are controlled by decadence. They abandon the path of the soul, like a papaya seedling surviving on blood and sewage, forgetting that the world has beautiful gardens.
A papaya seed, accidentally falling into a market ditch, is an unpredictable fate. But the path from the ditch to the garden, if chosen, holds beautiful possibilities.
A person, accidentally born into this world, is also an unpredictable fate. We may have an unfavorable background, a poor childhood, a difficult life, or be trapped in the torment of love… like a papaya tree rotting in the muddy ditch. But as long as we know that the world has beautiful gardens, our hearts will have a strong and sincere desire: I was born into this world to reach that beautiful garden.
Even if we never reach that ultimate dreamland in our lifetime, can we still maintain our yearning for the blue sky, the sunshine, and the blooming flowers?
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