Udara
There is something about the udara fruit that intrigues me; it teaches me a lot of things. It begins with peeling it, the toughness of its skin against the softness of my fingernails. Sometimes I use my teeth to bite off the top and continue the rest of the task with my fingers.
After that, there is the taste. It is not a sweet fruit, it’s very sour. I taste it and it slaps the inside of my cheeks but I continue to taste it, to savor the sourness.
The seeds come next, one by one I pick them out and suck on them until the taste changes and I suck on them some more. Once clean, I dump them in a pile at my feet.
Then there is the flesh. This is my favorite part. Depending on my mood, I could take my time, section the fruit, and place each one in my mouth. Other days I am impatient. I just want all of it, all at once, funny because I am easily overwhelmed.
My mother once told me that if I chewed on the fruit long enough, it would form chewing gum. And so on that faithful day, despite the fruit’s sourness I chewed and chewed and chewed and eventually got tired of chewing but I chewed a little longer and I felt it, a change in the fruit’s texture.
My love for you is synonymous with a child who has been given an udara fruit. It is coated with tough skin, and it is filled with little seeds. These seeds are not wanted but not useless. They could bear good fruit but if planted too soon…
And it is soft inside but sour. Despite its sourness I still want it, crave what it could be when I’m done with it. So I chew on our love, like twelve years old me would the flesh of an udara fruit, hoping to get my gum in the end.
