A shy, brunch, canary cocktail? Little did I know that Mimosa Pudica hid all kinds of secret ironies within its name. The first thing you have to know about her is how inevitable humanising her is. You can’t help but anthropomorphise her introverted modesty. Just think about the way she folds her leaves when socially responding to being touched: who wouldn’t shy away from that? It’s much like retreating, an act often performed when caught in the act of a midnight snack. Others would say it’s much like self-defence, the kind you’d observe in the facial squinting of newborns when provoked with lemony bitterness. I must remark how undoubtedly ironic the following truth is: to unlock the plant’s full identity and essence, our only key is to let it regress within her shell. However, when delving deeper into her taxonomy, the plant’s shyness is only a mimicked instinct (mimos). It provides hope to any friendly contenders: as long as your touch is not too indiscreet, you should get on just fine. After all, she flourishes in bright, indirect light: you can definitely get close, but make sure there’s a protective screen in between.
There’s more to it: Mimosa Pudica is fundamentally a witch. Who could’ve predicted that her sensitive response system singled her out as a means to improve agricultural health monitoring? She’s your regular biohybrid future, I guess. Mimosa Pudica’s superpowers extend further into other domains: just like hair holds memories, so does her defensive curling. Monica Gagliano’s research paper seems to suggest that Mimosa Pudica not only remembers but actually stores learnt memories for almost a month. Don’t get me wrong, this is impressive, but it’s hardly comparable to finals’ cramming techniques. Mimosa Pudica simply knows when it’s time to shield herself or not. She’s sophisticated, which means her energy is precious and unconventional, flaunting her brainless memorising at the rest of us.
