A friend messaged me sometime back speaking of her favourite flowers – liliums. Now, when I first read it, I was none the wise about this specific species – largely because the message went on to add that these were flowers that had no scent, and were merely beautiful to look at. She explained that this was the reason that she actually found them appealing.
The consequent reaction – at my end – was that of confusion. The thing is that I am a chip off the very old block, and have very little idea about all things new. I mean, I really had no idea that flip-flops were footwear – and hypercool speak for slippers – until I recently downloaded an image on Webshots that was thus titled. So, despite the fact that I had a glaring suspicion that this was American for Lilly, I thought that I’d just Google it.
That there, by the way, is another of my cronies. I for sure believe that when the Americans established America, they were so full of hate and contempt for the Queen that in addition to waging war on her armies, they decided to do so on her language as well. So, probably out of sheer insecurity, they gave fancy names for the – few – things the English had simple words for. Apart from the above – which came on later in civilisation – you had tap becoming faucet, and shoestring becoming bootstrap. But I’m straying here.
The fact of the matter is that I did Google it. And Google, in collaboration with Wikipedia, told me that my hunch was right. That liliums were indeed lilies.
And then, I contemplated… People today are really like lilies. Pretty to look at, yes. Decked in the most brightest, the purest of pigments, yes. They’ll stand out from every other flower in the park, distinct in their pride, assured in their own beauty. But within, there’s no fragrance. But within, there’s nothing in them that distinguishes them from another. A bunch of red that bloom together and together wither down into nothingness. Bright colours – yes – all red, yellow and white. But nothing that flows from within. Nothing that’ll distinguish one from the other. Maybe, I am wrong in this assessment. Maybe people just pretend to be lilies and merely hide they’re scent – simply because other lilies would not approve. Perhaps because it is so important to find acceptance and companionship in the world that we live in today, that people are ready to become lilies. Perhaps it is better to be a lily, for them, than be the tulip that blooms alone. Or then, perhaps, there are some who are meant to be like the marigold – sacrificed as ahuti for a higher purpose.
I really don’t know why they do it, but I do know, as did Wilde.
“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation“.