A Lesson in Suspicion, Surprise, and Letting Things Grow

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It started with a vibe. The kind that makes the hairs on your arms stand up, but for no good reason.

I was checking on my aloe seedlings—nothing new, just my usual little ritual. But then I spotted it. A tall, unfamiliar sprout jutting up like it had just pushed its way out of the soil.

My first thought- What is that? That’s not an aloe baby…

It didn’t look like the others. Not even close. It had presence. Like it didn’t just grow there—it arrived. The leaves weren’t spiky like my aloe babies. They were sleek, folded, a little too perfect. The kind of suspicious perfection that makes you squint and wonder if it’s trying too hard to look natural.

I’m telling you, it had a vibe. An I-know-what-you’re-thinking vibe. It stood taller than the rest. Smug, knowing. Like maybe, just maybe, it was watching me back.

My next thought- This is how it begins…
The takeover...... 
The silent invasion.....
 Right here in my house.....
 Is it coming for me? ???
I think I saw it move!!!!!

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Is this an alien?
What is it plotting?
Where did it come from?
Is there a breach in the grow tent?
Am I going to wake up to it whispering secret invasion plans to the aloe babies, corrupting their innocence?!

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The idea that something had been lurking—dormant, patient, biding its time—sent a chill through me. Like it had been watching, waiting for the perfect moment to emerge.

Of course, the rational part of my brain stepped in, all calm and logical: “Maybe it’s just a rogue seed from some forgotten experiment. You’ve reused this soil a dozen times.” But that only made it worse.

What else had I planted in there?
What else was waiting?

Still… I didn’t trust it. It had the unsettling calm of a sci-fi creature just before it reveals its true form. Like the deceptive quiet in a horror movie—right before the plants start moving. Every time I turned away, I half-expected to turn back and find it an inch closer. Just standing there. Smiling with leaves. And teeth!!

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I couldn’t bring myself to pull it. There was something eerie about it—like yanking it out might trigger some interstellar defense protocol. What if this was the first scout in a quiet invasion, disguised in chlorophyll and charm?

But the adventurous, experimental, free-spirited, maybe-a-little-too-curious part of me wanted to see what would happen. Just in case it wasn’t a parasitic lifeform biding its time in my grow tent. Just in case it was something rare. Something meant to be here. Something… special.

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Then—cue the dramatic sci-fi twist music—I remembered…

Somewhere in the shadowy archives of my plant memory… a seed. A gift. A moment I’d buried—both figuratively and literally.

Back in 2023, my daughter-in-law gifted me some seeds. I planted two. One rotted, and the other I’d totally forgotten. Left it in a pot. Moved on with my life. Thought it was a lost cause.

Plot twist: it wasn’t…

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The Alien is a Bird of Paradise!!!
A plant so regal, it might as well have descended from a lush, otherworldly jungle just to flex on my humble aloe babies.

I laughed. I celebrated. I apologized for mentally accusing it of plotting to take over the world.

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Mission Log: Mistaken Identity

True Identity: Strelitzia reginae — Bird of Paradise
Status: Not a threat (probably). Drama queen. Suspiciously photogenic.

Updated Notes:
– Long-lost seed gift from 2023
– Survived abandonment, rotting sibling, and total memory lapse
– Emerged from dormancy with impeccable timing and theatrical flair
– Emotional impact: Delighted. Amused. Uneasy. Definitely still watching it.

Conclusion: Not an alien. Just a late bloomer with main character energy…
Or at least, that’s what it wants me to think.

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Then within two weeks the leaf began to unfurl, beginning to reveal its full, glossy form. I gave it a new home—a 4” pot, because the poor thing was cramped in that tiny 2” starter like it was trying to hatch a breakout plan. Its root was swirling at the bottom like a tiny botanical prisoner.

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This experience hit me in a deeper way than I expected. The whole thing happened so fast—like it had been waiting for the perfect moment to show itself. It was all unfolding in a matter of weeks, but it felt like much longer. Maybe it had been preparing all along. Maybe it was always destined to steal the show.

How many times do we write something off too soon…
How many seeds do we plant—ideas, dreams, hopes—that seem to fail…
Only to quietly take root beneath the surface of our awareness?

And then one day, while we’re busy doing something else, they pop up.
Unannounced.
Unrecognizable.
Slightly threatening.

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And we’re like:
 What is this? 
Where did you come from? 
Are you here to ruin everything??

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When really… they’re just ready.
Ready to be seen.
Ready for space.
Ready to grow.

Sometimes the weirdest, most unexpected sprouts are the ones that carry the deepest magic.

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So here’s to the forgotten seeds.
To the projects we left behind.
To the parts of ourselves we didn’t even realize were still trying.

May we give them space.
May we give them time.
And may we always, always check twice before calling something an alien.

Because every now and then… it’s just a Bird of Paradise finally finding its moment.

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P.S. If you are interested in following along with The Aliens growth, leave me a comment to let me know!

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