Such an ordinary, natural process is the germination of a plant, simple and complex alike, and even then, it never stops being fascinating. Usually, where one blossoms, other flowers follow — geraniums and roses, coneflowers and sunflowers — and as the path of nature extends and branches out, more life sprouts where there previously was… not much. Why do I tell you all this?  Because I saw it, those flowers blossom together, and if only one sprouted, it would wither away as it came to life, being one. I was a single flower once as well, a hardly sociable one.
Being the introverted kid I was (and still am), most of my vacation days were spent inside my home, either playing video games or watching the same episode of “Regular Show” or “Steven Universe” for the millionth and one time. My room was my safe pot, and usually, the only one. The only gardener who saved me from wilting due to lack of sunlight was my mother, who often dragged me outside to play in the neighborhood’s park. My siblings were there to play with me whenever they came along, but most days I was on my own, doing honor to my last name “Rosas” and planting myself on a rusty bench. As common as this “sitting” routine was watching the other groups of kids play at the other side of the park. Hearing their laughs and seeing the joy in their faces was soothing and harrowing alike. Blissness was the aura that surrounded them, lovely to see, but more gnawing not to feel, and although solitude was a concept I didn't fully grasp, I could hear my intuition yelling at me: I was not on the right side of the park.

“And what about school? I’m sure there were people to play with” you may think, and you wouldn’t be wrong in your assumptions. 

I had one or two friends to hang out with during lunch and talk with during classes, so I wasn’t a lone ranger, but even then, most of the time they were with other groups of kids. On the rare occasions where I tried to integrate, silence would swallow me whole, pushing me to the outer edge of the conversation; or I would be put aside, left planted on a lonely bench, a common occurrence by now. Belonging became a puzzle, each attempt leaving me more adrift, as I constantly looked for the missing gap I would finally land into. I knew it was somewhere, or better said, I wanted to believe that there existed a space for me. In reality, though, I was just another piece that was trying to find its place in a puzzle that was already complete. 

“What is wrong with me? Am I boring? I wish I were cool too” were the thoughts that circled my mind back and forth, as I in the same way moved back and forth in my backyard’s rocking chair, looking at mom’s flowers, moving gently in parallel with the breeze of the wind, playing together as if they were one. Could I form part of that sentiment too?

And then that day came, the day the shattering and stagnant silence that was part of me would become a storm of noise and rioting, as for the first time in my life I decided that I wasn’t going to wilt as a static flower anymore, and instead stretch into the sky to become the whirling wind. I sat on the same bench in the same park — a ritual it had become for me — playing with the wooden sticks and summoning the power of my 7-year-old imagination to make the moment a bit more exciting. Slowly but surely, more kids arrived, until a full group came to be. It could have been just another day planted on the bench, begging to go home and return to my self-made confinement, but things were different, things felt different. In an inexplicable move of courage that even I cannot explain to this day, I stood up and walked over to where the group was. My palms were sweating. My heart started racing faster and faster, even if, with each step, I could feel it less present. A moment that lasted at most 10 seconds had felt like an eternity, and even then, without realizing it, I was already there, just some feet apart from where the group was sitting

"C.. can I jo.. join you?" I asked with my voice cracking with nerves, seeing how the group looked at each other and looked back at me as I feared the worst.

“Um, yeah come on dude” one of them replied, and then someone else followed with the same words, and in the end, the group agreed unanimously.

“...Wait, I am already in?” I thought to myself (yes young-me, it was that simple). All I needed to do was just… talk. That short moment was defining in my life, not because it was an achievement worthy of praise and applause, but because I surpassed my biggest fear, rejection. If I hadn’t taken that first step, I would probably never have become friends with Yan, one of my best friends to this day.

Commuting with others starting from an early age, even if it seems daunting, is a crucial factor in developing our social persona, and most of the time the fear of rejection and not fitting in backs us down from even trying to ask the simple question “Can I join too?” Bad experiences haunt us, and our survival instinct pushes us away if we feel insecure or fearful about what others might think. This is not exclusive to the young ones, as this problem is carried by many through their teen ages and adulthood. Thus, it is important to recognize that the fear of rejection is a common experience that can affect people of all ages, in different manners, but with the same affliction. Therefore, giving space for others to grow and socialize can be life-changing for those who need just a little push.

In addition, I feel it necessary to remark on the importance of public recreational areas such as parks. Nowadays, it has become more and more common to see fewer and fewer young people reuniting, commuting, and playing outdoors in these areas. This is not to say that there is an issue with being comfortable being alone. I prefer a lot of times to just by myself and my thoughts, but I still enjoy and need to talk to other people from time to time. This is the best way to learn from our mistakes while socializing, as well as learn from other people, their stories, and what they have to say — just as I am doing with this essay. We may meet people that we don’t fully connect with and most likely not interact again, but in the best case, we could have the chance to meet someone who can become a lifelong friend. Isn’t it worth trying?

Still, does everyone have the chance to meet that friend or group to connect with? In my case, I was lucky to find a group of people with whom I could be happy being myself. Some could argue that not all kids can meet a group that accepts who they are and that some could even damage the confidence of those who have less emotional resilience, a concern that many parents have expressed for their children, and rightly so. Unfortunately, such an upstanding issue as bullying cannot be completely fixed; the naiveness along with the poor education of the children that perpetuate harassment to others is a problem that extends beyond the scope of control that other children and even parents can handle. That is where parental support comes in, as they are the pillar for the correct formation and education of children. Not only are they there to correct their mistakes, but also to highlight their achievements and values, and in the process nurture their self-confidence, that same confidence that will help them take courageous actions, as simple as they may seem. Even in families where that support bond is not strong, mentors, teachers, and community leaders can nurture a child's social confidence in the same way a parent would. 

Because there’s always an opportunity, a place to grow where others grow, share root values, and ideas, and in the end have fun. A single flower is beautiful on its own, but when surrounded by others, sharing a common soil and growing bonds can contribute to the beauty of a whole garden.