Hydrangeas for the One Who Raised Her
Wei Ting stepped into her flat in Yishun just as the evening sky turned a faint gold. She dropped her work bag onto the couch, feeling the familiar ache in her shoulders. The kind that comes from long meetings, crowded MRT rides and the constant pressure of Singapore’s fast-paced routine. But today, she carried something else with her. A bouquet of hydrangeas.
Blue, lilac, pink and white wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a flowing ribbon. It looked like a cloud of colour, gentle and full. It wasn’t for a birthday but it was simply to say, “thank you.”
The person receiving it? Her aunt, Auntie Siew Fang, the woman who raised her when her parents were away working overseas for years. The woman who packed her recess snacks, accompanied her to school orientation, attended every parent-teacher meeting, and nursed her through every fever. Wei Ting realised something recently: even as an adult, she leaned on Auntie Siew Fang more than she admitted. And she hadn’t thanked her properly. Not once.
So, on her way home from work, she stopped by White On White, known by many as one of the best florists in Singapore, especially for premium bouquets and reliable same-day delivery. She chose hydrangeas because they reminded her of her aunt that gentle but strong, soft but enduring, full of quiet love.
When Wei Ting walked into the living room, Auntie Siew Fang was folding laundry as always, humming an old Teresa Teng song under her breath. “Auntie…” Wei Ting called softly. Auntie Siew Fang looked up. “You’re home already? I heat up soup for you-”
But Wei Ting shook her head and held out the bouquet. “This… is for you.”
Her aunt froze, confused. “For what? What occasion?” Wei Ting smiled. “For everything. For raising me. For loving me the way you always do. For always being here, even now.”
Auntie Siew Fang touched the hydrangeas gently, her fingers trembling slightly. “These flowers… they’re so beautiful.”
“You deserve beautiful things too,” Wei Ting said, voice soft.
Her aunt laughed a little, that warm, familiar laugh Wei Ting grew up with. “You’re so sweet. But really, you don’t have to spend money like this.”
“I want to,” Wei Ting replied. “You’ve given me more than I can ever repay.”
The bouquet brightened the room instantly. Blue for calm, lilac for appreciation, pink for affection, white for purity. Every colour echoing a different kind of love her aunt had given her all these years.
Sometimes gratitude doesn’t need a special occasion, the gentle, full, sincere and giving them to the person who shaped your life quietly. Tonight, Wei Ting felt that she had finally given back a little bit of the love that built her.
