Write to Win: If you could talk to a plant, which would you choose, and what secrets might it reveal? (Round 7)

In a heart-to-heart with the Hong Kong orchid tree, one could share anecdotes about the city’s endurance through the lens of this peculiar plant. Despite its hybrid nature and the urban landscape that surrounds it, the orchid tree epitomises Hong Kong’s tenacity and adaptability.

Standing tall along bustling highways, the orchid tree would reveal how it had weathered typhoons of all magnitudes. In the aftermath of Koinu, when its branches performed a wild tango with gale-force winds, it shared poignant accounts of Hongkongers who, like its branches, refused to bow in the face of hardships. Its branches would tremble, recalling the collective strength of citizens who crowded together to rebuild their lives after the storm. It would explain how it thrives amid the concrete jungle, recounting the story of Hong Kong’s harmony of urban development and nature.

With chortling laughter, it would describe its connection to Arbour Day, an annual celebration that warms its branches as youngsters from across Hong Kong gather to visit, nurture and adore it, small hands planting their aspirations and dreams beneath its steadfast canopy. It would explain why this particular date fills its heart with exuberance every spring. “My secrets adorn city streets and the sky,” the orchid tree would conclude, sealing our conversation.

I long to communicate with the Venus flytrap, a captivating and rare carnivorous wonder very different from other plants. I can envision the flytrap expressing its frustration about being misunderstood. It would exclaim, “Humans judge me based on my appearance and portray me as a monster, when in reality, I’m simply one of a kind. I may not be the type of flower you’d receive on Valentine’s Day, but my jaw-like traps can be quite eye-catching!”

It would reveal its sense of not fitting into the plant kingdom, despite being a plant, because it’s “so different from everyone else.” Pondering aloud, it would ask, “I have both plant and animal characteristics. Where do I belong?”

Then, the confident plant would become slightly defensive. “I’m extremely useful. Yes, other plants clean the air through photosynthesis, and I do too!” it would say. “But I also have another job – my fruity scent attracts household pests, which I can catch in a snap like no other.”

Lastly, in a softer tone, the Venus flytrap would confide its innermost secret – how it feels a profound sense of loneliness, being excluded by conventionally beautiful plants. I would reassure it, saying that its uniqueness makes it special.

I would like to communicate with bamboo, the largest grass on earth. In Chinese culture, bamboo is highly esteemed as a symbol of virtue. For giant pandas, China’s national treasure, bamboo is their staple food. Apart from China, bamboo is commonly found across Asia, including in India and Southeast Asian nations. Nowadays, bamboo is used globally, from food to furniture to scaffolding. It is hailed as “wise man’s timber” for its versatility and its potential as one of the most sustainable renewable resources on earth.

Although mankind has known about bamboo for thousands of years, the phenomenon of “gregarious flowering” still perplexes scientists. It is a mystery why most woody bamboo of the same species undergo mass flowering all over the world at the same time, followed by massive bamboo deaths, wiping out vast swathes of bamboo forests in one go and causing disaster to all creatures who survive on it. For example, in the 1980s, a large percentage of the panda population starved to death due to this phenomenon.

If I could communicate with bamboo, I would express my gratitude for its contributions to mankind and our ecosystem. I hope it would reveal the secret of how gregarious flowering happens and what can be done to prevent the disaster that ensues, so as to save the animals and forests.

I would choose skunk cabbage, also known as symplocarpus foetidus. When talking about this plant, people often only focus on its strong odour that resembles a skunk, ignoring its important ecological functions. Although some gardening lovers know that it has a unique scent which attracts insects and allows rove beetles to reproduce, acting as a valuable garden item, it’s a plant hated by most people. Therefore, I believe it would reveal to me how it feels about human dislike of it.

More importantly, it would tell me how it feels about producing that unique smell. Does it think that it smells attractive or horrible, and does it feel proud or ashamed of having such a different feature? If it feels hurt by people’s hatred, how does it cope?

Because skunk cabbages tend to grow in groups, I think it would share a secret with me about its preference for growing individually.

Furthermore, since it’s called a “skunk cabbage”, it would reveal to me what it thinks about skunks, and its opinion of the nickname. Since both plants and animals belong to nature, it will tell me if it has had any interactions with skunks before, and whether that experience was pleasant or unpleasant.