My monstera got a big head from that haiku.

My previously written about monstera is becoming comically huge, and I think he knows I’m talking about him.

His leaves reach up and against my living room window, stretching so tall that I can see them when I walk in the alleyway below. My apartment sits three stories up, but his giant green hands are in clear view, waving at me as I walk toward home.

I love it.

I’m surprised it’s doing so well because when I purchased this plant, I had already accepted there was a good chance I’d kill it. It’s the biggest indoor greenery I had ever bought, and I was nervous. I’ve had a lot of plants for a long time, but I’ve overwatered, under-watered, over-fertilized, under-fertilized, and have tossed enough plants that I carry a healthy level of self-doubt when buying something new.

But after I saved this guy from too much sun exposure a few weeks ago, this monstera’s been living it up. Happy as can be. Obnoxiously big with long, jungly aerial roots I don’t know what to do with and already outgrowing the big pot that cost more than he did.

He’s growing without apology.

He’s reminding me to lean towards sunlight and warmth.

He’s just a plant, yes, but we’re also two living things existing in the same space.

And I enjoy the company.

This afternoon as I was willing a headache to leave my body and stretching on my living room floor, I saw it. A fresh little chute. He’s growing a new leaf.

IN NOVEMBER.

I was so blown away I gasped mid-downward dog.

Inspecting it to confirm my eyes did not deceive me, it was true.

I gave him a little damp paper towel bath to clean away any dust particles on his leaves, told him I was proud of him, and concluded I should probably leave my apartment more often.