We have this lone papaya tree at the backyard, right near the end of the muddy canal where the laundry water streams goes down through, which serves as its unvarying water supply. It stands straight and tall over a trash pit of plastics and other non-biodegradable materials like cable wires, broken glasses, busted Barbie dolls and empty energy drink bottles.
Though my parents love to have papaya fruit on the table every after meal as desserts, they didn’t plant it themselves with their bare hands. It grew by itself from a tossed palm of papaya kernels almost two years ago. It started like a hedge plant back then, away from notice like an ordinary grass that deserves a cleanup slash. The presence of it in our backyard had been ignored for months with no special heed and attention since it was partly concealed by a big barrel.
After about four months, it towered over an empty drum and that’s when it caught us in surprise. The sight of it brought me tears of happiness because I never expected a papaya tree that instant. I remember a motto “Good things come when you expect less to it”. Thanks to the incessant water flows from every other day laundry and the blessing random rain from above, it rapidly grew toward gleaming and promising sky.
Today, the said papaya tree levels the height to the roofing of our house. Erecting with its extended leaves, like that of an open umbrella, shielding anything by its side, doing the cover as possible as it be capable of. Its body resembles that of a jumbo-size deform bars, naturally with grids as welcoming design for probable ‘papaya fruit climbers’, for them to be able to get a grip towards the tree top.
Fruits are now evidently limitless, can be spotted in group. In fact my left index finger is pointing at it right now, directing to the ripe one...
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