The Acacia Tree

I was still a child when I found out that trees do sleep. It might not have been a quarter of my age now yet when it happened, but I still remember how the leaves were resting downward. And it was this very acacia tree that I first recognized to be asleep.

It was a late summer afternoon. The skies must have been changing its hues already, there might have been purples, oranges, and blues in the skies. I asked an elder a question that I cannot recall at present. I fumble upon my memory and I must have been asking if I could still play with the trees at the hour. And her answer was that "kasi natutulog na sila."

"Natutulog po ang mga puno?"

She agreed and taught me how to recognize how it looked like. I looked up to this acacia tree and saw its leaves gently folded and clasped together. I wandered around the front yard to validate the statement. To my amazement, I realized that indeed, the trees do sleep! Since then, I enjoyed looking around recognizing sleeping trees. And it has always felt like an open secret few people talk about. The acacia tree showed this to me first.

The tree that taught me of their nocturnal occupation has grown in its own years and has eventually been cut down a month ago. Elders in my family thought it wiser to let it go for now. I remember how I was able to hug this acacia tree last December, when I have fully embraced that I am no longer a child. It pained me to see it go I asked them if it was really necessary, but they deemed it so. As my mother sent me pictures of my cut down beloved acacia tree, I felt a pang that I feel towards childhood: gratitude and regret.

Just like that, the acacia tree was. Similar to so many other things in my life that have gone and passed. These are things I cannot go after anymore. And yet I move to ponder upon it with joy and I realize that even so, they leave me with attachments and treasures that I will never be able to bury to the forgotten past.

They may go, but the things they imparted to me will never leave. And even if the first tree that I saw to be asleep have gone, I know for sure that trees do sleep and I will know it forever as it is embedded in my memory and my recognition. Just like all the other people, seasons, and things that I have lost and who have left me with memoirs to keep.

I could write more about this, but I only allowed myself to write about it in the same time it would take for my water in the kettle to boil. If I don't do that, I might talk more about these pleasurable things and more and might never be able to stop because to remember is such a beautiful painful activity to get lost into.