La vie en rose!
Never underestimate what a bouquet of roses can do to rekindle a relationship on the rocks.
Frankly speaking, I’ve never thought very highly of roses in any shades of any colour… especially after hearing the Taoist priest chanting something about ‘fresh flowers withering’ (Cantonese) at my grandmother’s funeral. Ironically, my mom used to be in the floral industry…
But these little ironies aside, I have finally seen the magical wonders of a well-wrapped dozen of roses tonight. It all began when I had a tiff with her last night, one of those minor arguments which arise not due to a lack of love but rather, due to differences in the definitions of love. I think of love as something more spiritual, although that runs the risk of sounding too idealistic. She thinks otherwise and prefers a love more physically expressive. And here, I don’t mean simply in the romantic sense. It’s hard to explain what the differences really are…and somehow I think I am digressing…
Anyway, in a bid to reconcile such differences, or at least work out a compromise, I dropped by the florist before fetching her from work. He recommended a mixture of baby pink and crimson roses and mumbled something about my girlfriend (purely his conjecture since I never told him anything about who would be receiving the flowers) being elated. I must have cast him a rather disbelieving look when I paid him, for he reassured me that lovely ladies and lovely flowers were stuff that went well together.
His words must have provoked my thoughts a bit, because I couldn’t help thinking about it while driving down to her work place. I mean, what is the link between a lady and a flower?
A woman in the splendour of her beauty is like a blossoming rose in the summer breeze. The rose’s bright vermillion shade of colour signifies a woman’s vibrant passion for life. Its layered petals stemming from a single stalk represent the essence of womanhood as a woman’s many complexities unfold in unified brilliance. Its soft velvet texture of petals is remarkably similar to the smooth and delightful tenderness of a woman’s touch. Its mildly intoxicating scent is akin to the natural fragrance a woman possesses.
A woman full of passion, character, touch and mesmerising aura is indeed beautiful.
Yes, a woman is a rose.
Having arrived at the porch of Hotel A where she was waiting for me, I stopped day-dreaming, picked up the bouquet and hastily fumbled for the letter I wrote for her. (yes, I write her letters) I was half expecting her to bicker with me but I noticed she was smiling from ear to ear when she saw the roses…and me, of course. What was totally incredulous to me was that upon seeing the bouquet, she seemed to have forgotten all about our quarrel the previous night! Suddenly, as if the roses had cast a magical spell on her, she was all sweet and nice! So my dear brothers, here’s my two cents worth: don’t forget the roses!
Frankly speaking, I’ve never thought very highly of roses in any shades of any colour… especially after hearing the Taoist priest chanting something about ‘fresh flowers withering’ (Cantonese) at my grandmother’s funeral. Ironically, my mom used to be in the floral industry…
But these little ironies aside, I have finally seen the magical wonders of a well-wrapped dozen of roses tonight. It all began when I had a tiff with her last night, one of those minor arguments which arise not due to a lack of love but rather, due to differences in the definitions of love. I think of love as something more spiritual, although that runs the risk of sounding too idealistic. She thinks otherwise and prefers a love more physically expressive. And here, I don’t mean simply in the romantic sense. It’s hard to explain what the differences really are…and somehow I think I am digressing…
Anyway, in a bid to reconcile such differences, or at least work out a compromise, I dropped by the florist before fetching her from work. He recommended a mixture of baby pink and crimson roses and mumbled something about my girlfriend (purely his conjecture since I never told him anything about who would be receiving the flowers) being elated. I must have cast him a rather disbelieving look when I paid him, for he reassured me that lovely ladies and lovely flowers were stuff that went well together.
His words must have provoked my thoughts a bit, because I couldn’t help thinking about it while driving down to her work place. I mean, what is the link between a lady and a flower?
A woman in the splendour of her beauty is like a blossoming rose in the summer breeze. The rose’s bright vermillion shade of colour signifies a woman’s vibrant passion for life. Its layered petals stemming from a single stalk represent the essence of womanhood as a woman’s many complexities unfold in unified brilliance. Its soft velvet texture of petals is remarkably similar to the smooth and delightful tenderness of a woman’s touch. Its mildly intoxicating scent is akin to the natural fragrance a woman possesses.
A woman full of passion, character, touch and mesmerising aura is indeed beautiful.
Yes, a woman is a rose.
Having arrived at the porch of Hotel A where she was waiting for me, I stopped day-dreaming, picked up the bouquet and hastily fumbled for the letter I wrote for her. (yes, I write her letters) I was half expecting her to bicker with me but I noticed she was smiling from ear to ear when she saw the roses…and me, of course. What was totally incredulous to me was that upon seeing the bouquet, she seemed to have forgotten all about our quarrel the previous night! Suddenly, as if the roses had cast a magical spell on her, she was all sweet and nice! So my dear brothers, here’s my two cents worth: don’t forget the roses!
posted by sUmmEr heAt at 1:39 PM
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