I do not know why I still chose to linger in the Botanical Gardens with so much work on hand.

Maybe it’s the longing to commune closer with nature, even though it’s half man-made.

The most impressive part of the guided trip was in the herb gardens. For the first time in my life I got to go near the herbs that I’d only seen on the scent bottles, in poetry, or in ancient myth. It was a strange feeling, as if the fairy-tales are actually tangibly true, and as if the herbs acted as an Einstein-Rosen bridge (forgive me on the somewhat fancy words, but I really prefer a bridge than a hole here) that connected the ancient times to what we are in now. For the first time I got to pick some tips of the leaves (after begging the pardon of the poor plants), crush them between my fingers and savour the scent. Through the scent my mind wandered to what the ancients thought when they are facing the fragrant herbs.

I came to the Botanical Gardens for the love of plants. But this trip brought me to history. The words from one of my professors were right. History is not just a process of accumulating knowledge. We were just like the bear in the cornfield, gaining as we go along, but losing in the same time. The plants, exploited by us, have stored their memory from generations to generations, but they still grew so tame–but maybe this is another strategy in the battle of survival. This conflict! This co-existence of law of the jungle and so-called poetic beauty! Lost pondering on our reasons of being born.

Quite unsure what I have been writing. Let these insane little articles exist.