Scared to write. Scared of what my hands will do. Scared of what might pour from my mind. My heart sits heavy in my chest like a radio weights down a rucksack. My mind is twisted up like a towel being wrung out. That’s how I’ve lived the past couple months without adding an entry here. I think about it often, but I let time pass me by, content with just the thought.

Maybe that’s my problem. Thinking about what I want is satisfying enough for me. It’s the passing whiff of diesel as the truck that carries my dreams drives on by. I haven’t been man enough to run after the truck, flag it down, and hop in for the ride. I haven’t been man enough to go drive the truck myself.

I am like a plant whose caretaker has left it without water too long. Neglected, forgotten about. I sit in the sun all day but don’t get the water everyone else does. Most plants die in these conditions. Without water, they wither and fall away. They become so weak the slightest breeze will carry them away. I’ve seen so many plants die this way. They were unable to withstand the harsh heat. They couldn’t handle how long it took for rain to come.

But I was made different from those other plants. I don’t need as much water as them because I am cactus. A brief rainfall once a year is all I need. I hold onto those drops of rain longer than anyone else can. Most other plants around me can hardly set their roots in this desert. The sand is too hot, and too loose for them. Instead, they all look for an oasis, for somewhere more comfortable. “The weather is nicer over there, and I’ll have an easier time growing,” I hear them fantasize. They’ve heard the myths of plants who live at the oasis, whose lush green leaves fluorish.

The thing about those plants at the oasis is they are soft. Their growth has been spoon-fed to them. While they get larger on the outside, they have become weak on the inside. They have not been forced to survive off just a few drops of water. The plants at the oasis think they are better than the single cactus along in the desert. They think themselves more beautiful, growing flowers in their excess and fanciful leaves that give them shade. What they don’t know is their own plentifulness will be their very downfall. Their lavish existence by the water has made them weak inside. Eventually, even if not soon, they will pass away.

But the sun has made me strong. Its daily beating all over my body has awoken the resolved within my soul. I’ve even developed thorns to keep away those who want to cut me open and take the water from inside me. Because of the strength I have found within, I will outlive all those other plants. Yes, even the ones at the oasis. Cacti are known to live as long as 200 years. Oh, the tales I will tell after two centuries. These other plants won’t last with me. They will eventually wither away as I watch from my solitary post. They are of the wind. I would help them if I could, but the only help I can give is to warn them they must become tougher. They have become slaves to the pleasure they fell when they get water. I refuse to be a slave. I will take what I am given and move on.

Other plants want the water I hold within, but they can’t get to it. So they will just commiserate with one another in their own thirst, but their misery won’t bring them any more rain. Their thirst will dry up their fake friendships and their true selfish nature will be revealed. The only other people I make sense to are the other cacti. They are the only ones who ever get me. We are the ones who can survive on just the morning dew. They are not wrong, but they are missing the point. I had to become this way. I got this way because I was endured the suffering of the sun’s rays. It was the suffering that made me who I am.

See you in Torbia.

Cactus Jack 2025