J.O — ORIGINAL WORK

27 March 2025

Letter to Esther Greenwood from the Fig Tree (Inspired by The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath)

     Dear Esther,

     I have stood here for so long, branches heavy, watching you linger beneath my shade. I have felt your gaze drifting from one fig to another. Restlessly. I watch your eyes trace each possibility. I know how much they call to you. What they promise. You see them all, don’t you?

     The first fig holds the life of a brilliant writer. I know you can almost feel the ink on your hands, feel the weight of words that will one day spill from your mind to your fingers. Onto the paper. Paper that will hold stories and shape the minds of so many.

     But then your eyes move to the next fig, where you see a life of travel. Adventures, new cities, and the freedom of never belonging to one place.

     And there’s another fig, A home. A family. Laughter echoing through hallways, and the smell of fresh bread. Maybe some quiet comfort is what you need.

     And yet, just below, you see something beyond that. A life in academics. Knowledge that broadens your mind and becomes your power.

     You see them all, Esther. Each fig filled with possibility, But you don’t move. You stand frozen beneath my branches, too many choices. I can feel your hesitation, your fear that if you pluck one fig, the others will fall, wither, and rot before you’ve had the chance to taste them.

     And I wish I could promise you that choosing one fig won’t mean losing the others. But you already know the truth. Life doesn’t wait. Figs do not hang forever. Their skin grows thin and soon, they will fall. One by one. I have watched this happen before. I have watched dreamers linger too long, and I’ve felt the sadness as the figs fall from their grasp, leaving only empty branches and regret.

     I know you want to hold onto all of them. You think that by standing still, by keeping every possibility at arms reach, you can delay the inevitable. But the longer you wait, the more figs will fall, until one day, the ground is littered with what could have been.

     But Esther, please listen to me. Life is not about tasting every fig. It’s about choosing one. Maybe the fig you choose won’t be perfect. It might be sour. Might be bitter. Maybe even too unbearably sweet. Maybe there will be days when you wonder about the figs you left behind. But to taste even one is better than letting them all wither.

     Though most of all, you don’t have to fear the figs that fall. Each one that falls makes space for something new to grow. The branches will bloom again. And in time you will see new figs. They might be different, but they are beautiful in their own way.

     So please, before the season ends and the figs are gone, let yourself choose. I will hold you steady as you stretch toward the one that calls to you. And I will not mourn the figs that fall, because I know that even one taste of life is better than the regret of standing still.

     And if one day you find yourself standing beneath my branches again, maybe older and wiser, ready for something new, I will be here. My roots will remember you. My branches will welcome you. I will be here.

     With patience,

     The Fig Tree