In floriography (the language of flowers), the jasmine flower represents purity, grace, and awakening. Its flowers are small—nearly unadorned — but so richly fragrant and memorable that a single flower in bloom can scent a whole room. It doesn’t yell for attention with bright colors or big petals, but it endures — quiet and unwavering. It makes itself known not through loudness , but through nearness. In many ways, jasmine somehow mirrors the experience of queer people who navigate the world with gentle resolve.
Queerness does not always present itself with colorful flags and declarations. Sometimes, it’s the quiet way of someone that starts them dressing the way they like to dress. That shaky whisper of “This is who I am,” and the courage it takes in a world that may not understand. It’s the silent choice of authenticity over fear — day after day, moment after moment.” Queer people, like jasmine, also have long bloomed in silence, often thriving in spaces they weren’t intended to fit. In communities that instructed them to shrink, to disappear, or to blend in, they found ways to blossom nevertheless — gently, stubbornly, and elegantly. Even when they were “closeted” or unseen, their truth mattered. Their presence was felt.
Jasmine also appears in many cultures as the flower of romantic devotion. When we love a person unconditionally, we notice every little detail. We often say, “love conquers all,” and I think that’s beautiful. And just like that line, queerness often extends and redefines what love looks like — outside the binaries, outside the expectations. She represents the kind of love that the queer community has fought for — soft, deep, sometimes hidden, always real.
Jasmine has played a sacred part in many cultures and spiritual traditions for a long time. In some practices, it is believed to open the heart and mind, providing a space in which the inner soul can be heard. The fragrance of jasmine beckons stillness — a homecoming to the self. It entices presence and inner ease in which a shift can unfold. Queerness is spiritual, too. It’s the sacred practice of meeting yourself, taking space in your body and truth, and being who you are — even if everyone else says you shouldn’t be.
And as jasmine is used in cleansing rituals, many queer people experience various internal cleansing of shame and societal expectations. There’s an emptying out — an unlearning. And in that absence, a raw and beautiful thing emerges. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s sacred.
To be queer is to exist in a continuous loop of self-discovery — to reawaken, to realign and return to who you have always been long before anyone taught you how you should be.
Because jasmine is delicate and small, it often reveals its own identity to the world when no one is watching. It releases its fragrance and permeates the air until the light of the day is gone. And I think that there is something exceptionally beautiful in this process — something that hints to us that true beauty tends to thrive under the obscurity. Instead of just waiting to be seen, Jasmine glories in shadows and darkness.
Many of the queer people have grown in the shadows of rejection and internalized homophobia from society. For some, their authentic selves were tucked away, hidden until it was safe to come out. For years, queer community has struggled to live in the dim light because in most cases, coming out and being proud of who you are is unsafe. It was almost unbecoming and unwelcoming for those who are not enlightened. Hostility was their way of welcoming. But even against the harsh eyes of judgement and sharp tongues of adversities, like jasmine blooming in the dark, the resilience and beauty of our queer community have thrived. They continued to grow, breathe, love, and become despite the harsh complexities that surrounded them.
In this harsh world, jasmine flowers teach us that softness does not equate to weakness. It may be small, but it is aromatic and ephemeral, and it makes a great impression on everyone. Queerness redefines softness as power; tenderness as survival, and vulnerability as rebellion.
To be queer is to be like jasmine.
To blossom quietly, to love deeply, and to live through the world with grace, with the trailing bits of beauty behind you, even when you aren’t yet fully seen in all your wholeness.
So if you have ever felt too soft, too tender, too “much” for the world, remember the jasmine.
Your presence matters.
By Loela Joy G. Cabilao