Dandelion in the Spring

It starts with an intriguing question from an unknown number.

“If I end my life today, do you think I’ll regret it?”

My heart skips a beat or two. I click on the reply button in a blink of an eye but my mind freezes when the keyboard appears. The truth is, I don’t know what kind of response I should type.

Should I reply with a big yes?

Should I forbid the person from doing so?

Should I tell the person to dial the suicide hotline?

A part of me is telling me to delete the sudden message from a complete stranger and put my phone away. It’ll be easier to ignore it rather than replying with a wrong response and ending up taking that person’s life unintentionally. Either way, whether I reply his message or not, I can still be blamed if he ever commits suicide.

I let out a heavy sigh.

The odds of me typing the wrong reply are high, but it’s much better than pretending I never received the message. After all, it’s quarantine time, and I don’t have anything better to do anyway, besides studying. At least I can tell them – police officers, family members, friends, whoever they are – I’ve tried, if anything happens to him.

I rest my elbows on the study table, mind still processing what kind of words does the person need at times of confusion like this.

“Definitely…” I mouth out my reply, fingers typing out the words. “You’ll regret it because you’ll miss the chance to get to know me.”

A light reply might be able to cheer that person up.

I send the message and in a matter of seconds, the screen of my phone lights up as a new message comes in. It is as if the person is waiting for my response the whole time.

“Really? Then, I should learn about you first while I’m still alive.”

My lips form a small smile. I see a slight spark of hopes in the reply, and I hope I’m right.

“It’ll take years for you to learn about me. Are you up for that?”

“I can do it in a shorter time. Try me.”

The person on the other side of the line seems to be confident about it. I find it quite funny, honestly, because I’ve been living my life for 21 years, and I still don’t really know about me.

“Okay,” I breathe, “what kind of information am I going to disclose to this stranger?”

After contemplating whether I should tell the person my real name or not, my eyes fall on the scattered notes on the table.

There, on the bottom of my notes about antibiotics, is a small yellow sticky note of a rectangular shape. The sloppy handwriting in blue ink reads “You’ll do great in the exam. After all, you’re a dandelion in the spring.”

I introduce myself as Spring, as in the season. He doesn’t question my choice of nickname as he tells me to call him by his real name, Lucas Wong. He insists to let me know his name so that if he somehow gets mentioned in the news, I’ll know they’re referring to him. I decide to ignore the underlying message as I jokingly reply that even if I get my writings published by the papers, he still won’t recognize me.

“So, you write?”

The simple question brings so much excitement that I can feel adrenaline rushing throughout my whole body. Before I can be clear about me being a medical student who fancy writing, he sends me another message.

“You can write about me.”

It is more of a suggestion, rather than an order, and I am glad to

take the recommendation.

“Now that I have to learn about you, I’m pretty sure it’ll take half a decade for us to know each other.” I press the ‘send’ button after adding a sticking-out-tongue emoji at the back of the sentence. “Are you up for that, too?”

With a single yes, he becomes the highlight of my upcoming days during quarantine.

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It doesn’t take him long to open up with me. Lucas turns out to be a full-time photographer who has a gallery of his own. I’ve heard of him before, I realize, when he reveals his private Instagram account, where he shares some of his magnificent arts and achievements with his closest friends. The smooth gradient of his Instagram feed leaves me in awe, but what catches my attention the most is the fact that most of the pictures are of flowers.

“You like flowers?” I ask, typing out the question.

He replies the message in an instant, stating that the word ‘like’ is an understatement. He loves flowers. He is attracted to their radiant colours, and how they have the ability to light up his life for the whole 25 years of him living this dull world.

It hits me, in a way, to question his intentions when he first texted me with the sudden question a week ago. My mind quickly pushes the thought away, afraid to ask such sensitive topics to this recovering man.

I scroll his feed again, and bright yellow petals that surround a blossoming rose captivate me.

“Dandelions are pretty, don’t you think? I love them the most.”

He is quite surprised at my statement, seeing that he replies with a full caps lock, “THE WEEDS?!” Another message comes in as he adds, “Your preferences are interesting, Spring.”

I let out a trail of chuckles as I reply, “Look beyond.” My gaze shifts to the photograph of dandelions on my bed frame. The petals look like a lion’s teeth. They are no more beautiful than the roses, but the symbolisations they hold within them are incomparable.

“Dandelions, in the language of flowers, reflect the ability to rise above life’s challenges. They survive despite having to compete with the other weeds on the ground. They survive despite being stepped on by humans. They are a survivor.” I press the ‘send’ button before I continue, “And Lucas… You are, too. You’re a survivor, just like the dandelions. And you’ll be fine.”

There is a long moment of silence.

Lucas doesn’t reply as fast as he usually does, and it scares me.

Maybe I have stepped over the line.

“If you feel insulted, I am deeply sorry.” I struggle to type with my trembling hands. Before I get to send the message, my phone vibrates vigorously. It is a call from Lucas. Hesitating, I click the green button and put the phone to my left ear. My eyes shut, lips pressed against each other, forming a thin line. Truth is, I’m scared of whatever he’s about to say.

“Spring…” Low, his voice is. “Do you really think I’m a survivor?”

The question is laced with a hint of sorrow, followed by a sniff, as if he is holding back his tears.

“I do,” I whisper. “Don’t you think so?”

The man on the other side of the line pauses. The sniffs get louder with each passing second.

“I’m a failure…” he confesses. I can feel the pain throbbing in my heart as he continues, “I pursued my dreams to become a well-known photographer without minding my mother’s wish to see me as a doctor.” He takes a deep breath. “The thing is, I got accepted into medical school. But I was selfish. I only thought about myself. So, I ran away.” He pauses. The silence wraps around us for a long minute before he whispers, “I lost my mother to Covid-19 last week.”

My heart breaks.

“If I have just listened to her and become a doctor, I might be able to save her.” He tries to gulp the sobs away, but they only become louder.

My grip on the phone tightens. Hot crystals well in my eyes as I softly call his name. “Lucas…” I hold back my shaking voice.

“You’re a survivor.” Tears finally roll down my cheeks but I quickly wipe them away with the hem of my sleeve. “You’re a survivor, and I’m proud of you.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Do you know that dandelions have a strong connection to the Sun?” I prop myself up from my bed and takes a long glance on the window. The garden is painted by the colourful petals of the bougainvillea and violets, as they dance according to the melody of the spring breeze. The ground is carpeted with green, yellow and a pinch white petals of dandelions under the bright sunlight. “They light up people’s lives with their blinding yellow petals… Just like you.” My lips form a small smile. “You radiate my life when I feel like my quarantine days are dull.”

The sobs from the other side of the line tune down.

“It must have been the reason why your mother named you Lucas, don’t you think?” I stare at the dandelions on the ground. “To radiate light from within… To illuminate people’s lives.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “You’re going through something big right now. It overwhelms you. But Lucas… Don’t let it take the radiance away from your life. After all, you’re named after the Greek name that means light.”

Lucas sighs.

“You’re going to thrive, just like the dandelions.” I soften down my tone, “I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me. I can be your person. I’ll help you rise above life’s challenges.” My eyes fall on the swaying petals of the violets. “Let me be the spring to your dandelions.”

After a long pause, Lucas finally replies, “You’re a beautiful

coincidence, Spring. Thank you.”

It is not a coincidence. Out of all random numbers he could have texted, he picked mine. It is not a coincidence. It is already written in the sky.

“I’m glad I texted the right person,” he whispers. “Your words radiate such comforting warmth despite us being strangers.

That is how you simply suit the name Spring.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “And yes, please, I’d like to be a dandelion in the spring.”

Dandelions in the spring mean rebirth.

Perhaps it is fated that I will be the one to help him free himself from the metal chain that blocks radiance from shining him from within.

“Promise me you will thrive to survive.”

“I promise.”

With the two words, he shows how much of a survivor he is. He reached out to a stranger for help – what a fighter! He may be scarred by his past decisions, but he is willing to face them now, slowly but surely.

I write this in hopes that you can learn from him. I hope his will to thrive will inspire you to do so, too. Reach out to someone, if you’re in need. The right person will definitely help you.

I keep my promise, Lucas.

Now, you have to keep yours.