I could be more captivated by the tiny droplet hanging over the surface of one of the leaves of my banana tree plant — the first I’ve ever owned and also the only one.

I got it when I moved into my new house to bring some life to the vast room I know have, but also to test myself whether if I could or not to take care of something else.
After a couple of months I completely forgot about it and almost letting it sit near the window knowing its leaves were turning brown and dry.

I ignored it because it didn’t mean much, until one day that I realised how brutal that was.Borrowing my flatmate's scissors, I trimmed away all the dry parts, watered it, and gave it the name 'Marisa’.

When I returned home last Saturday after my run, which felt terribly difficult, I noticed a tiny droplet hanging from one of its leaves, perfectly suspended, portraying pure beauty and life.I found myself identifying with the plant—sweaty, slightly melancholic due to my recurring knee pain, recalling Bernini's 'The Rape of Proserpina' and its incredible human detail.

How beautiful pain can turn to be when contained and captured in time, like the droplet on the leaf, like marble coursing with blood, like the defeat after the effort, like the constant desire of victory and life.