I love peach, not only because it is delicious, but also because it gifted me with valuable memories of feeling loved.
At 10, my grandmother served our family plates of delicious peaches. On my plate, peaches were clean and white; on hers, bug-eaten and spotty brown. I asked her why she is eating ugly ones, and she said, “Bugs find the sweetest peach, and I love those parts.” I believed her at the time, but now I realize that lie was her language of love. No one truly likes bug-eaten anything.
At 17, I noticed that my mother was wearing a pair of plastic gloves and a mask when she peels off peaches for me. I asked her why, and she said she has been allergic to peach. For all the time she served me with peaches, she endured the itchiness of her skin just to see me devour them with a happy face.
At 28, I took a trip to Korea for a medical reason while my wife stayed in New York. One day we were Face Timing, she said she bought a basket of peaches. She said, “They are hard now, but will be ripe and delicious by the time you arrive.” However, I knew she would not be able to eat those peaches because she had her trip planned around the time I come, so I asked why she bought them knowing that she can’t eat them. She replied, “But at least you can eat them at the perfect timing. You love peaches.”
Love enacted is much more powerful than it is spoken. Peaches gifted me with valuable moments of feeling loved, which makes it my favorite fruit.
