grow beside me, not into me

i was telling someone recently how important it is to remain your own person.

i kept thinking of individuality as a flower.

you begin as your own seed. you water it, sometimes badly, sometimes with too much care. eventually something sprouts. a stem forms, then a bud, then petals begin opening into a shape that could only belong to you.

then someone else's hand enters the garden.

i think that's where we confuse closeness with becoming one. when you merge your life with someone, you're not handing them your flower and asking them to grow it for you. you're giving them space to plant theirs beside yours.

the garden can become ours. the flower should still be mine.

i feel this deeply as an artist and writer because so much of my work depends on remaining rea at the end of it. my way of seeing. my strange observations. my memories, culture, softness, wars, wins, colours and textures i haven't explored yet.

my mind should still have chambers that belong only to me. my soul can love another deeply without needing to become an extension of theirs.

i think creative work asks for the same thing.

a collaboration can bring two minds together. a brand can invite you into its world. a relationship can make room for another life. a project can ask you to become part of something larger.

but what are you bringing into the meeting that could only have come from you?

that's a question i return to as a narrative strategist and editorial writer because identity sits underneath everything i write. diaspora taught me we can belong to several places without being swallowed by any of them. storytelling taught me different voices can sit beside one another without needing to sound the same.

that's why this image sits with me.

two hands. one meeting point. a flower between them.

neither hand has to disappear for the image to feel whole.

that's how i want to move through everything i merge myself with. love, friendships, collaborations, projects, rooms i haven't entered yet.

i want to arrive with my own roots.

because your identity is there when an opportunity finds you. it's there when somebody recognises your work without seeing your name. it's there when somebody loves you for the person attached to the hand they're holding.

as we age, experiences connect dots. difficult situations show us how we respond. our work reveals the themes we cannot stop returning to.

and slowly, the bud opens.

not every flower will carry the same colour, texture, delicacy or season. that's what makes a garden worth looking at.

you can still be watered by someone. you can still share the sunlight. you can still grow towards one another.

just don't forget which roots are yours.

be your own flower. then see what kind of garden you can grow beside someone else.