Today I came home to help Ma (mother) pick ripe fruit from the tall trees that have finally blossomed into a beautiful bouquets of persimmons. It has been over a year since I have stayed in my parent’s house, but tomorrow is going to be a very special day. Hundreds of people will be at the Buddhist temple to watch their loved ones transition from casual attire to saffron robes. I am going to see my father with a shaved head for the first time in my life. Pa (father) retired from his job at Boeing four months ago and is finally ordaining into monkhood. Although it’s only for 10 days, this is his first opportunity to release himself from the daily distractions at home that prevent him from the full embrace of his spirituality. Also, it will be Ma’s first time sleeping without his presence to wake her up at 5am every morning. I figured she was longing for my company on this lonely afternoon so I did not hesitate to join her.
Ma grabbed the stool to assist me in picking the persimmons too high to reach. I attempted to avoid branches hitting my face and extended my hand to grab the nearest fruit. Instead, several ants used it as a chance to substitute my arm for a tree trunk. As I fervently shook them off, Ma laughed and told me not to worry. “They are just like us, except smaller.”
She began cutting the excessive branches, reminding me of a strong Amazonian woman fearless of any poisonous creatures or potential harm. As I watched from a distance, she said to me, “You know your Tha (grandfather) planted this tree when he took care of you as a baby? I never would have known how to grow this. And look at it now. People come everyday to pick from it and we have so much to share!” Its massive leaves provided enough shading to cover a small house and its branches extended out into our neighbors’ backyard. The ripest of the fruit seemed to be hanging over our neighbor’s wall and my mother wanted to make sure not a single fruit would go to waste. “Let’s tell the neighbors to eat it!”
Before I stepped foot onto their lawn, Ma ran to our backyard and picked the ripest dragon fruit and three pommegranates. In Thai custom, we never visit someone’s home without bringing a gift. In my mother’s custom, we must always give the best of what we own. Ma was excited to present the dragonfruit to our White neighbor, thinking that perhaps she may have never set eyes on the dazzling pink splendor of one, let alone taste the milky white galaxies hiding beneath its skin.
I hesitated to ring the bell since under it was a sign that read, “Daytime sleepers. Do not disturb.” Seeing a kitchen light on, I felt more confident and pushed the button. Ding Dong! A figure emerged from the lit room and our neighbor opened the door to greet us, surprisingly with the words, “Dragon fruit!” With a puzzled look on my face, she followed with, “I read it’s good for diabetes.” Ma said she would return soon to give her some dragonfruit seeds to plant in her backyard. She also reminded her to pick the persimmons hanging over her wall so that they would not spoil. Before we returned to our lawn to cut more fruit, our neighbor told us to watch out for burglars. Another neighbor was recently robbed so she suggested that we leave a sign like hers underneath our doorbell, OR leave at least one car on the driveway to avoid any suspicion of an empty home. We thanked her for the advise and returned to our front yard.
I watched as Ma stood on her tip toes to grab the bundle of fruits hanging high above the brick wall that separated our house from the neighbor’s. As she struggled to pick the furthest one, she stopped herself and said, “That’s so rude of me to pick the fruit when it’s already on their property!” Then, she lowered her voice and jokingly whispered, “Maybe I should wait for their driveway to have no cars.”
We filled two large buckets full of persimmons and returned into the house to begin cutting. Frustrated with my technique which left many slices slipping from my fingers and onto the ground, Ma had to give me a tutorial of the proper way to peel a persimmon. She also cut open a dragon fruit for us to enjoy before it could spoil. “You know I bought the seed to this dragon fruit tree for $35 from a Vietnamese market years ago? Why spend $7 on 1lb of dragon fruits when I can plant one on my own? And now look at how beautiful it is. Even our neighbor has had her eye on it.”
I thought of my recent trip to Thailand and how I tried so hard to understand a culture I felt so far apart from. Language barriers between my grandfather and I made it difficult for me to ask him about his upbringings. He raised me in America until I was three years old, then became homesick for his village, Phatthalung. If it were not for my parents immigrating from Thailand to pursue the American dream by working multiple jobs, he would not have ever come to help watch over me. Since then, he has never returned to America but instead chooses to remain in the comfort of the vast rice fields and coconut trees of Southern Thailand. But this whole time, was I really that far away?
I listened as Ma hummed away tunes that brought me into a light meditation during our fruit cutting session. Tha was with us all along, for if he never planted that tree I would not have had the privilege to hear wise words from my mother and witness her practice the culture that she grew up with: Love. And the great thing is I did not have to relearn a forgotten language to at least understand this part of my heritage.
Soon, it will be my turn to make sure there are enough seeds to bear fruit for my future children. Until then, what seeds will you plant?
