Quixotic Plant Ontology: Envying the lives of calatheas and Chinese evergreens
Using the extended metaphor of [endarkened] plant care to juxtapose carceral, capitalistic academic institutions, this piece is a love letter to my partner that asks how the embodied stresses of “work” manifest in intimate interpersonal relationships. I ask, what does a relationship look like when both (or multiple) individuals are strained by the pressures of production? I write this now as we (in Black collectivity and partnership) are actively (re)defining and (re)imagining ourselves and boundaries in relation to that which is umbrellaed under the Academy and beyond. As a Black woman and man, the burdensome reality of our racialized oppression is highlighted by the physical space in which we do said work and is inherently antithetical to wellness, particularly as both of our doctoral work centers race and other systems of domination. The stress and hostility of higher education, particularly PWI’s on marginalized students is widely known and considered by scholars, but the impact of this weight on personal relationships of those within said institution is not often considered. The natural world has a lot to teach us.
Dear Professor X,
As the sun begins to peak, I watch as you commence one of your morning rituals. The babies are tended to first. The calatheas, Chinese evergreens, elephant-ears, pothos, and snakes are sprayed, wiped, watered, trimmed, repotted, and verbally greeted. I love you, but not as much as your mom. The infinity sprays slow time as each particle of water takes its time landing on its respective living, breathing leaf. The automated, timed light shines on cue. More and more, it becomes evident that this ritual is beyond the mere habitual practice of plant care.
This caretaking practice juxtaposes the life demanded of us as anti-carceral academicians.
Tell me about your day, suga. Were today’s pressures like the unknown depths of the sea? Were they strong enough to offset your steady equilibrium? Did the day hold you firmly in love, or with such force that you gasped for air? What did you wear to maintain yourself? Today, I prayed that your “no’s” would exceed your maybes and yeses. Tomorrow the sun will rise.
How were you watered today?
Baby, what should we do today? Huh? Oh, we should bask in feathery silk-lined pillows well into the morning, sip coffee and tea out of our favorite mugs, read Toni’s sweet words, create impractical wood pieces, play silly games, laugh at a recalled anecdote, and wonder?
May the leaves of our desires rustle with the wonders of the non-preemptive.
What does it mean…
that we have forged a path where this kind of day is more likely to remain a dream than a reality we can transform to memory— that these days are hypothetical not just in character but in actualization because we live in a world where moving at turbo speed is quotidian? On this academic path, rebellion is synonymous with the rejection of the persistent do-not-matter-never-ending next tasks. The singular experience of academics is often theorized, but what about us? Imagine. A world where these days of leisure and being taken care of are the norm and not the exception.
A world where the immediate fertilization of our surrounding soil is more than enough.
Today, you call and tell me about a scholar whose work you deeply admire. “Watson described this wild study with Black men!” you say. Apparently, there are visceral variances that can measured by cellular factors depending on perceived prevalence of racism in their own lives. You restate the posed question– “which group, those with high perceived prevalence or lower, do you think had the most negative physiological indicators?” We look at each other and sit in the discomfort of what we feel could be rationalized either way. “Hmmm. I am not sure. I could make a case for either group being impacted more negatively than the other. Tell me”. Hesitatingly, you respond, “the brains of those in the group that perceived racism as having high prevalence had greater negative biopsychosocial indicators marked by telomere shortening[1]”.
A recurring infestation.
Day by day, the leaves turn progressively brown,
but slow enough that the discoloration is noticeable only when it is too late. The webs are translucent and often overlooked from afar, but their symbolic and literal takeover has been long felt. The spider mites of capitalism and white supremacy are adept.
1 tbsp of neem oil, ½ tsp of dish detergent, and 3 cups of water will likely not suffice for the persistent, detrimental pests of the academy.
Mindless TV shows become a media critique. A server's bad day becomes an example of evident racism. Dinner becomes a debrief of student disrespect. Catch ups with friends and family become a chore. Unpaid labor becomes “opportunity”. Showers become spaces for drafting mental to-do lists. Rest replaces rejuvenation.
What does it mean that our trained default, a default informed by the constancy of our engagement with racism and other systems of dominations in both our scholarship and lived realities, is taking the shape of a kind of labor we may not even be attune to? Willful ignorance for two, please.
What is the difference between knowing and hyper-vigilance? Between awareness and possession? Between navigation and inescapable hyper-reality?
I do not think we can truly fathom
what it would be like to simply exist. To be fed, watered, homed, loved. Potted, grown, died. Plant landscapes don’t require the “social” qualifier.
No wonder I cannot sleep the exhaustion away. Can we exist as though the only promise is death, as though photosynthesis is all we need?
How is your back?
How is your elbow?
Are your eyes strained?
Is your spirit?
Do you need to be replanted?
All in the back of your head? All in the palm of my hand?[2]
Can you smell, taste, I mean truly imagine, a life devoid of Outlook calendars, weekly strategic planning, manuscript due dates? A life less dependent on the drug and fallacy of time? An ontological state where the reigns of internalized capitalism are truly incomprehensible? I want to believe that this is what we desire and that this is where our most expansive love lies, but what if I cannot imagine? Oh, no. Are our decompressing processes compatible? This is the erotic Lorde demanded us to lean into— the embodied feminine intuition from which all life is both derived and bound. The intertwined established rootedness of what would otherwise be sporadic reaches of life.
Honey, I wonder who and what taught you to give your all, even in times that you do not have your all to give. I won’t let them have all of you, take all of you, take all of us. You are a rarity with a heart of gold that this work, this place, this institution, this mental adoption has the power to turn cold, but we won’t let it. These risks are twofold when we are both implicated in this process– in the potential shortening of our telomeres, as the concept, framework and methodology of embodiment is quite literal.
“Reading, Relaxing, Daydreaming…”
Our nights end with a whisper, a tease.
“Let’s run away”
xo,
Chels
[1] Marie, T., & Watson, K. (2020). Remembering an Apocalyptic Education: Revealing Life Beneath the Waves of Black Being. Root Work Journal, 14–48. https://doi.org/10.47106/4rwj.11.02181931
[2] Anderson. Paak. (2016). Heart don’t stand a chance [Song] On Malibu [Album].
Contributor Bio
Chelsea Bouldin (she/her/hers) is a doctoral fellow in the Cultural Foundations of Education program pursuing a Certificate of Advanced Study in Women’s and Gender Studies at Syracuse University. Her work and embodied ethos co-creates worlds that embrace expansive processes of knowing, expression, and being. “How might Afrofuturistic literature serve as a tool for us Black women, girls, and femmes to chart ourselves?” is her most persistent query. As an interdisciplinary scholar, her work and writing embraces a multiplicity of non-conventional practices and angles. Flavorful food, Black sci-fi, boundless writing, impromptu exploration, and laughing endlessly fill her dreamiest days.