Gemotions

“I am very sorry, Mr. Chen,” the patent agent said, his face a mask of polite formality. “Your automatic gardening system has already been patented.” Mr. Chen felt his shoulders slump. He'd imagined the joy on his grandmother's face, a woman with a bad back, finally able to enjoy her beloved garden.

He pictured the rows of tomatoes, the fragrant herbs, the vibrant blooms that would bring her so much happiness. He wanted to make something for her. Now, the dream, like a tender seedling, had been crushed.

He felt a familiar tightening in his chest. His hands clenched. He thought of his grandmother, of the sacrifices she'd made for him. He wanted to do something that would make her life easier, simpler, happier. It made him feel a sense of failure.