De-Metamorphosis.

In the middle of a night forlorn, a tiny seed struggled against itself wanting to break free from its deep and solitary imprisonment. It impatiently aspired to get a glimpse of the breaking daylight and have its first taste of the early morning dew.

Restive but determined, the tiny seed churned consistently until its cot broke apart, six inches below the anticipated plush terrain. The rupturing of its thick, dense wall, whether naturally caused or not, was less conceivable. Then it started to move out rapidly and find its way thru the tiny dark granules. Its overzealous excitement cannot be stopped. It resisted valiantly against the tightly compacted matter, moving upward the yet to be discovered surface.

And finally, it reached its so-long desired destination. The moment it was drawn closer to the fore of the emulsified topmost soil to accommodate its liberation is fleeting. Yet, it was decisive, for it shall determine the seed’s coming into being. At long last, the newly germinated seed, now a fledgling plant, set its eyes on what it excitedly willed to see.

First, there was a moment of resurgence, of trivial upturn and contemplation of what it expected. Reverberating tremendously was the sight of a sun-drenched firmament projecting a vast tranquil horizon, of lush and verdant greenery reflective of the soil’s fertility and of nature’s distinctive sound. It was a pleasant disturbance perplexing the senses.

It could have been so.

But it was different. It was deviance to the entire created image. The vibrant foresight was only a putrescent notion, a superficial embodiment that emanated from a very youthful glare. The sight was objectively tarnished, numbing the senses and deceiving its functions. The firmament was dark and overcast, sending an ominous message of melancholia. The field was barren and isolated. Creeping through its eerie atmosphere were screechy sounds barely audible. And drenched within the soil’s content were toxic and contaminated substances.

The seed, agitated by the stark reality, was once again perturbed. This time, it was ghastly. It was appalled more than disappointed. It was crammed with intense rancor and resentimént that it eventually wanted to stage both internal and external revulsion. It was revolting against itself for being ingrained there. Then, it let out a censorious attack, thinking it could beat the odds to transform the entirety – to what it want it to be. Yet, it remained superficial. For it did not know where it is coming from. For it lacked the indispensable understanding of why things appear as they are and not as it wanted them to be.

Now that it is surviving the most sordid place and thriving in such a rotten environment, it began to question the minutest detail. It demands the transformation of its surroundings without contemplating on what it had already done, on what it had contributed or on what perhaps it can do. Clearly, it speaks without substance. It demands without due cause.

But it was too late. The once tiny seed was now a budding tree. Its trunk, though weak, has already thickened. It has already increased tremendously both in width and length. Its leaves though were emaciated; and its twigs were slender and fragile, attesting the fact that it did not receive the vital amount of nutrients to supply its growth. It remains puzzling that despite of this, the seed grew and came into being.

The tiny seed has been tossed in the wrong spot. It cannot deny that it was a product of a surrounding so luridly despising, so viciously disdainful that had gradually usurped its vitality and incrementally obliterated its potentials. It is fated to live such eternal destiny.