Once upon a time, there was a genus of Asian bamboo, gallantly known as Sarocalamus. Unimpeachable in stature, captivating in resilience, and playing a key role in the ecosystem, they were dubbed as the majestically evergreen gods and goddesses. The first of this papery bastion was Sarocalamus faberi, this pompous stick of varnished green takes great pride in adorning the alluring landscapes of Sichuan, Yunnan, and Guizhou. And then there was Sarocalamus racemosus. This incessant showoff was quite the cosmopolitan spirit, spreading his canes across Tibet, Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Myanmar, Bhutan, Sikkim, and Nepal, like a jet-setter with a knack for cultural ubiquity. Last but not least was Sarocalamus spanostachyus, the recluse that preferred the quiet seclusion of Sichuan. Despite their disparate personalities, one common thread wove their lives together: they were bamboos. And as bamboos, they were subjected to the whims and fancies of human beings since time immemorial. If in today's world, you are born a bamboo, let me tell you, dear reader, the world turns a blind eye to your plight. Used, abused, and systematically misused - bamboos will tell you, the world is no place for a well-intentioned grass. In a fatal twist of irony, the unstoppable Sarocalamus faberi found themselves becoming the crying wall for the pandas who deemed their leaves as irresistible menu item. The breaking point came when they began to be used to produce some cheap beer cups and chopsticks — quite a dishonour for someone of Sarocalamus faberi's stature. For Sarocalamus racemosus, the universe conspired to a different downfall. It was in their strong, flexible shoots that the mountain-dwelling communities saw the support for their bridges and houses. This left the once proud Sarocalamus racemosus not only literally but also metaphorically rooted to its spot, unable to grow, unable to dream. As for Sarocalamus spanostachyus, humans found their young shoots a vital ingredient for native medicinal soup, despite clear protests from the bamboo itself. The clandestine passing of the soup recipe from one generation to another resulted in the spanostachyus's young ones being ripped from their roots, a plight that brings tears to even the hardest bamboo heart. Oh, the horror! Delectable soups, sturdy houses, cuddling pandas, and even paper for the next bestseller! Bamboo, in the hands of human creativity, is tremendously flexible, pun intended, and goes unsuspected in its strength. But who asks them? Who truly cares about their dreams, their desires, their rightful place in this world? And thus, under the glistening moonlight, the tearful tale of the bamboos unfolds. Bamboo-zled, they stand tall, bearing everything in stoic silence, hoping one day they will be seen for more than just their utility. And perhaps, just perhaps, the day may come when being bamboo is no longer the heartbreaking destiny it is today.