My Father’s Garden, My Heart’s Blueprint

When I was 14, I stumbled upon an unexpected epiphany about love and relationships while weeding a stubborn patch of basil in my father’s garden in Alexandria. At the time, I obviously didn’t realize it was an epiphany. It felt more like sweaty labor under a relentlessly bossy parent’s supervision. “Zahra, you can’t yank it like that. You’ll ruin the roots!” he bellowed in Arabic as I struggled to evict a particularly defiant dandelion from the soil.

Looking back, I can safely say this—my father’s garden, with its overambitious collection of herbs, fruit trees, and flowers, became my blueprint for understanding connection, growth, and yes, even romance.

Now, before you dismiss this as eccentric “childhood-memory-meets-life-analogy” fodder, hear me out. The lessons I absorbed while reluctantly toiling in that chaotic garden shaped the way I now approach relationships and—dare I say—dating. Let me explain.

Lesson 1: Roots Require Care

Let me paint a picture. My father loved his jasmine plant more than life itself…or at least more than my teenage excuses to avoid gardening. Once, after transplanting it to a sunnier spot, he discovered half its roots had torn. I thought, “Big deal, it still looks...plant-y.” But that poor jasmine drooped dramatically within days, shedding leaves like it was auditioning for the role of a tragic heroine in some botanical soap opera.

You see, the roots were damaged. All the sun and water in the world wouldn’t matter unless my father nurtured it back to health first. In a way, love works the same way. A relationship—new or old—needs sound roots to flourish. Those roots? Trust, communication, and genuine curiosity about each other’s lives.

I learned that skipping those steps to focus on the shiny flowers—the dates, the romantic declarations, or the Instagram-worthy moments—won’t keep a connection alive. Your roots matter. Water them.

Practical takeaway: Want growth? Have conversations that go beyond the surface. Whether it’s a budding romance or an old flame, ask questions that matter: “What makes you laugh uncontrollably?” is ten times better than “How was your day?”

Lesson 2: Not Everything You Plant Will Thrive

Here’s a humbling truth about gardens (and relationships): not every seed becomes a tree. Some germinate, others don’t. Some start strong, only to shrivel when an unexpected rainstorm (or late frost) rolls in.

There was my father’s tragic experiment with avocado trees in a climate that was, frankly, screaming “no, habibi” from the start. Rather than sulking, he moved on, proclaiming, “Hmm, next year we’ll try mangoes!” (Spoiler: Mangoes also failed, but he kept going.)

Similarly, not every relationship will bloom. Some feel promising at first—like the person you clicked with because they knew every French New Wave film reference—but might not withstand the actual elements of daily life. And that’s okay. It’s all part of growth.

Practical takeaway: Don’t let your previous dating “fails” coax you into thinking love isn’t in the cards for you. The right connection will thrive naturally in the right conditions. Until then, keep planting. Every experience teaches you something.

Lesson 3: Pull Out the Weeds

You know the worst thing about weeds? They don’t announce themselves with neon signs or flashing lights. They quietly sneak into the soil, spreading their roots stealthily until you notice a vibrant plant struggling for nutrients. But here’s the kicker—some weeds actually look pretty at first.

I’ve realized toxic behaviors in relationships (or habits we cling to) work much the same way. They can hide behind sweetness or familiarity, but over time, they choke real intimacy. Whether it’s refusing to open up, staying entangled with someone who doesn’t see your value, or ghosting instead of communicating—these behaviors act as weeds, starving your relationships of authenticity.

Practical takeaway: Do a little soul-weeding every now and then. Are you holding onto what hinders or helps? You can’t grow a joyful love life if you’re letting toxic patterns take root.

Lesson 4: Timing is Everything

One summer in Paris, I tried to impress my friends by baking a tarta aux abricots using apricots far from ripe. What resulted looked like dessert but tasted like disappointment. Timing, my friends, is not just important—it’s everything.

It’s far too easy to rush relationships because we’re eager for love or don’t want to “waste time.” (As if love operates on a deadline.) Whenever I’ve forced something too soon—or let anxiety rush intimacy—it’s backfired. Relationships, like fruit, require the right conditions to ripen. When they do? Chef’s kiss.

Practical takeaway: Let connections evolve at their natural pace. Sometimes, waiting leads to a richer and sweeter bond than you imagined.

Lesson 5: Tend to Your Own Garden First

One of my favorite memories is visiting Paris’s Jardin des Plantes after moving there in my teens. I’d bought a shamelessly romantic orange scarf (blame every French film trope ever), and I spent hours sketching flowers in the garden, thinking intentionally about nothing—and, unexpectedly, about everything.

To this day, I believe being alone among plants teaches you something profound: you need to cultivate your own plot of land before inviting someone to share it. Self-awareness and self-love aren’t just buzzwords for inspirational posters—they’re the secret to showing up as your best self in a relationship.

Practical takeaway: You are your first garden. What lights you up? What quiets the noise in your life? Build a space that feels like yours before adding a plus-one.

The Gardening Toolkit for Love

So, maybe I didn’t anticipate weeding basil in Alexandria would inspire my philosophy on love and dating. But that scrappy little garden taught me what no rom-com or glossy magazine ever could:

  • Love grows when you nurture the roots.
  • Not everything planted will survive—and that’s okay.
  • Weeds (aka toxicity) must go.
  • Timing is half the battle—wait for the fruit to ripen.
  • A flourishing relationship starts with a flourishing you.

Next time you overthink your situationship or wonder why flirting feels like decoding hieroglyphics, remember this: all gardens start messy, unpredictable, and full of potential. And with a little effort, unexpected inspiration can bloom in the most unlikely corners of your life—perhaps even next to a stubborn dandelion.

Grow wisely, my friends.