Growing up, my Dad bought my Mom flowers often. They made her so happy, and I remember feeling genuinely joyful having them around, too.
I learned that flowers from the right person could mean everything—a gesture of love, attention, care. But discovering the joy of buying flowers for myself has been equally rewarding.
It feels magical to choose blooms that speak to me, bring them home, and watch them transform my space.
I especially love fynbos. There’s something about their wild, untamed beauty that feels like home—indigenous, resilient, perfectly imperfect.
When I have fresh flowers around, particularly these native beauties, my whole energy shifts. The colours seem more vivid, the air feels lighter, and my thoughts are clearer.
I know expecting flowers from someone else can feel cliché, and yes, I know what your song is about, Miley—I agree! There’s profound freedom in not waiting for someone else to bring beauty into my life.
When I buy myself flowers, I’m not just purchasing blooms; I’m choosing joy, claiming beauty, and celebrating the simple pleasure of being alive in a world where such gorgeous things exist.
