I dreamt that i planted a seed one day when i was a young man, with little understanding as to how the world works. They say for girls to turn into women is an inevitable outcome, for boys – turning into men is an ambition.

I woke up, with the dream turning into an alternate reality for me. A crystallised fact that the seed is planted in the garden.

All I needed now was patience.

In my delusory world, I watered the seed every day. It was so much fun, gardening.

A zillion flowers popped around the imaginary seed, each more beautiful than the other.

My life was filled with fragrance and colour and beauty.

Yet. My eye was always on that barren place. Every shoot, every weed, i mistook for a flower. Every inch of space flared up as a void in my head, a giant hole i could bury myself in. At times, when things were downhill, I could only see the empty space, and not the flowers. I desired, i craved, i wanted.

Then one day i saw myself for what it was. For what I was.

And I didn’t like it at all.

I took a shovel and dug and dug and dug.

As if i was digging my own grave.

I didnt want to know whether i had killed the seed or buried it as deep as anyone could or whether it was there in the first place.

I only knew I had to dig. Dig. Dig. Dig.

It took a while. But i fulfilled my ambition.

I was no longer a boy.