The Frangipani and the Mealybugs

Among the leaves and the quiet battles, I learn the work of holding on.

There’s a frangipani just outside my bedroom balcony. When I moved it there, I worried it wouldn’t pull through the change—the shock of new dirt, new shade, unfamiliar skies. For a while it looked brittle, all slack green and drooping stems. I’d check it every morning, half-expecting something worse, but eventually it decided to stay. Sprouted new leaves. Dug in.
Then the mealybugs came. At first, I didn’t pay attention. Cottony bits on the stalk, soft and almost invisible, like leftover dust. But they spread. I ran a finger along a branch and it came back sticky. So I did what everybody does now: searched the internet for solutions, read more than I ever thought I would about pest infestations.
Neem oil, the sites said. Mix it with detergent and water. Spray often, stay watchful, and don’t assume you’ve won just because you can’t see them for a day or two. I ordered a kit, bent over the leaves in the evenings, made a ritual of dousing every likely hiding place. Still the bugs return, stubborn and quiet. Keeping the plant clean takes discipline, a patience that’s sometimes hard to muster after a long day.
There’s something almost predictable about it—the way anything good, anything living or loved, ends up threatened by slow decay. House, body, relationships. The frangipani won’t thrive without care. Neither do we. Even when things seem fine for a little while, there’s still work to be done: small chores, repeated gestures, a willingness to look close enough to spot the trouble before it spreads.
I used to think the goal was to win—to get rid of the bugs, solve the problem, and move on. Now I’m beginning to think it’s about attention. It’s about returning, again and again, giving the things you care about the time they need, even when it’s a hassle or the results aren’t guaranteed. Maybe most things in life ask for this—not a one-time fix, but a kind of gentle vigilance. And in that watching, that tending, there’s something you get back. Not certainty. But something like peace.