Story by Nia Cunningham, Summer 2021
Growing up my parents continuously exposed me to their love of flowers, kicking off my relationship with nature. My dad still, to this day, gets my mom a bouquet of flowers to show his appreciation for her. I remember coming home from school tired and ready to fall asleep. However, when I walked into the kitchen, I was surprised by an astonishing fresh bouquet, emanating a sweet spring fragrance that he had bought for her. Often the bouquet would be filled with Tulips, one of their favorite flowers, which they specifically adored for their perennial qualities. My mom calls tulips the “resilient flower” for continuing to bloom year after year. Tulips in the past were very popular because of this feature and often symbolized a new season, perfection, love, prosperity and beauty. In 17th century Holland, there was a tulip frenzy where people were so obsessed with the precious bulbs that they would pay a fortune. Some would bid $2,500 of today's currency in order to be the owner of a precious Tulip bulb. Tulips in my life, rather than fortune, represent the resilience I needed in order to be myself.
Tulips have been a part of my built environment in different ways. Every sunday I would walk up the snake like path into my church that was surrounded by radiant pink and yellow tulips. Walking into church, the tulips reminded me of the resilience I needed to carry in order to survive the sermon and walk back out to see the blossoms again. I have always had a complicated relationship with religion. Mainly because I spent 18 years of my life listening to my uncle preach sermons that told me that I was going to hell for being queer. Not being comfortable within my own skin created issues within other areas of my life, specifically the relationship with my parents. I wasn’t able to talk to them about my sexuality until last semester. After covid isolation, self reflection, therapy, and some breakdowns I felt like I was ready to air my grievances to my parents. I had felt prepared to talk to them for about a week, and one day I went on a walk to get out of my dorm room. Walking down Halsted street in the blowing wind, I saw a clump of pink tulips protruding out of the desolate ground. Freshly bloomed, they reminded me of my resilience. Those tulips gave me hope, and reminded me of the joy I would have seeing a big bouquet of them on my kitchen table. Tulips remind me of the good and bad. That going through life there will always be a need for resilience, but also a need for love, joy, and balance. That day my parents coincidentally called me to have breakfast with them, and I happily obliged. After picking me up we drove down to a new breakfast place my mom wanted to try. The restaurant was decently crowded and there were white circular tables in the middle, with deep red leather booths surrounding the perimeter. We were just having small talk while being seated and giving the waiter our orders. I don’t remember how the conversation about my upbringing and sexuality came about, but I just told them everything that had been on my mind. I spoke on my upbringing, and how I felt like there wasn’t ever any space for me to be who I am. We spoke about religion and how traumatic it was for me, and critical questions that I have always wanted to ask. The conversation was a bit hectic at first, but after the food had come I had made my peace and in result felt free to be more me.