A Silent Yet Familiar Presence
That evening, I placed it at the center of my kitchen table. The yellow light gave it a dull, almost ordinary appearance. I sat for a long time just observing it, without really knowing why. Then a thought crossed my mind: perhaps it was the only thing my father had clung to without ever wavering.
He rarely changed his habits. Not demonstrative, he expressed his feelings through simple, repeated gestures. He believed more in actions than grand words. The cactus, in the end, resembled him greatly.
Understanding What He Wanted to Convey
Over time, the plant found its place on my desk, among my belongings. I began caring for it almost mechanically. I watched the soil, adjusted the light exposure, realized it needed almost nothing to continue growing. Just a bit of attention, and a lot of consistency.
That’s when everything made sense. My father had always appreciated the cacti’s ability to survive without embellishments, to thrive in sometimes difficult conditions. Without noise, without complaint.
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