I was taking my usual “extended shower” when I thought about the ritual of giving and receiving flowers. I realized that I’m not particularly keen about receiving flowers, especially the store-bought ones that come inside decorated transparent plastic holders or boxes. I have no qualms about flowers that come still attached to their respective plants, in a pot or whatever container, but flowers from shops are just plain distasteful.

I especially dislike roses bought from shops. Don’t get me wrong for I like how roses look. I’d love to have my personal rose garden. Roses are very pretty, very delicate. They’re rather complex flowers that I used to really like when I was in 5th grade, especially white roses. I still somewhat do, but I don’t particularly enjoy receiving them in bouquets.

There’s a reason to this, of course. The smell of roses, although I admit, somewhat pleasant, also remind me of death.

My maternal grandmother’s wake was held at our house, and I remember rather clearly that I helped out arranging the dozens upon dozens of roses – white, red, yellow, and pink – to be put beside her coffin as decorations. So all throughout the wake, which lasted maybe three days, I smelled the unending aroma of at least a hundred roses.

Decaying roses. Those roses were technically dead, having been plucked from the vegetation that kept them alive. Being kept looking fresh by chemicals, just like my grandma was with embalming fluid. Dead. Preserved, yes. But still assuredly dead.

So I guess that’s the reason why when asked what my favorite flower is, when in the past I’d instantly say that I love white roses, now I hesitate first and really try to think about what I should answer to that question. I still haven’t decided exactly what my favorite flower is.