I grew up surrounded by greenery—lush rice fields, vegetable plots, and a yard bursting with flowers and ornamental plants.

My father is a rice and vegetable farmer, his hands roughened by years of working the land. My mother, with a different kind of green thumb, filled our yard with every flowering plant and ornamental she could get her hands on. You’d think I would have caught the plant bug early on, but it took nearly three decades for it to finally sink its roots into me.

For most of my life, I was just an observer, appreciating the way my parents brought life to our little corner of the world in the Philippines. Plants were a huge thing in our household, but I never felt the pull to dig into the earth myself. That is, until I ended up moving back home after living alone for most of my working life, preoccupied with the pace of life in the city, not quite having a place that’s conducive to what anyone would call ‘slow living’ and activities like gardening.

I find myself back in my childhood home again, at a time when the world slowed down and we were all forced to confront the quiet corners of our lives. I called it the plant bug, or “plantdemic” as many have dubbed the surge of new plantitos and plantitas or just people yearning for something tangible to nurture.

But it wasn’t until the world slowly started to open back up in 2021 that the idea became appealing to me. I tried to go back to the city, but it was the ‘new normal’ as was the buzzword those days. It didn’t feel right anymore, to be back in an empty place, come home from work just to sleep and eat by yourself. Our family lives in the countryside; it’s simple living, not too remote, but still a good hour away from the urban hustle and bustle. I realized I liked life in the countryside more. So I moved back, this time permanently. The commute was a gruelling four hours roundtrip, with my shift starting at 7 am so I’d be on my back by 4 pm. It wasn’t ideal but I go home to a place that’s lived in, with my parents, almost retirement age but are still working the land.

I work with screens all day so I needed some outlet on the weekends that’s slow and mindful and most of all away from the screen. Then what was right in front of me all along finally came to me. Suddenly I am getting my hands dirty and coaxing life out of the soil.

At first, it was just a few pots and a couple of little baby plants on the windowsill. Before long, my modest collection began to grow, much like the plants themselves. I wanted to have fresh herbs for my cooking, so basils, oregano, and thyme I might have grown too much. Then I started growing lemons from seeds and getting told it might take decades for them to bear fruit, so I moved on to vegetables for my salad. I’ve filled my bedroom and workspace with ornamentals that were supposed to help bring more life, filter the air or bring more oxygen, help me sleep, and make me happy.

Sometimes things don’t work out—a plant wilts, a seed doesn’t sprout—but there’s always something new to learn, another chance to get it right.

There’s something profoundly therapeutic about it—a hobby that forces you to slow down, to be patient. It’s hard to rush nature, and in that slow rhythm, I found a kind of peace I hadn’t realized I was missing.

Gardening, as it turns out, is a lot like life. It’s about nurturing, about giving time and attention to something and watching it grow. Sometimes things don’t work out—a plant wilts, a seed doesn’t sprout—but there’s always something new to learn, another chance to get it right. And in those moments when everything flourishes, there’s a deep sense of satisfaction, a connection to something larger than yourself.

I think back to my father, out in the fields, and my mother tending to her flowers. There’s a quiet wisdom in their work, a connection to the earth that I never fully appreciated until now. Gardening has become my way of reconnecting with that part of my heritage, of honoring the generations that came before me who understood the value of growing things.

So here I am, late to the party but all in, dirt in my hands and a newfound appreciation for the life that springs from it. The plant bug finally caught me, and I’m not letting go.

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