Lychees

I sat alone in my room, staring at my blank computer screen, barely able to hold back my tears of frustration. I had been sitting silently for almost twenty minutes, hoping for some kind of revelation, granting me a thesis for the long paper I would have to write. 

I so badly wanted to give up: to just call it a day, close the cursed document that had been tormenting me, and scroll mindlessly on my phone instead. I moved my cursor around, hovering between writing something and just closing the document, out of sight, out of mind. But as I tried to decide my next step, I heard a few soft knocks on my door. My mom quietly opened the door, and poked her head inside, peeking at my computer as I smiled guiltily at her. With a little nod–I couldn’t tell if she approved or disapproved–she silently closed my door. As I stared  at my closed door, I could hear her, walking down the stairs.

After that interruption, I no longer had the heart to just give up, knowing that my mom would come back sooner or later, asking about  my progress on the essay. But even as I tried to push myself to start, I just couldn’t. I typed aimlessly on the document, conjuring up sentences that I knew would make no sense, hoping that my mom wouldn’t read it too deeply. 

With another series of quiet knocks, my mom once again opened my door, but this time she was carrying a platter of fruit. She set down the porcelain plate, filled with peeled lychees, and with a word of encouragement, she left my room, gently closing the door behind her.  

For a second, I couldn’t move. It was irrational, but tears poured down my face as I sniffled and furiously wiped them away. I sat there for several minutes, letting my emotions of frustration, sadness, and gratitude just pour out of me. While I had been worried over my mom’s potential reaction to my unfinished essay, she had actually been worrying about my well-being.

I shakily reached for one of the peeled lychees, and grabbed the soft fruit, its juice dripping  down my fingers. As I bit into it, a sour taste filled my mouth, a huge contrast to the normally sweet and floral taste of a lychee. Despite the sourness, I slowly savored the fruit, spitting the pit into my hand, the lychee leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. 

My mom had no idea that all the lychees she had given  me were unripe and bitter. However, I ate every single one of the nine lychees she had peeled for me, and they tasted like the sweetest lychees I had ever eaten.

After stuffing myself with the lychees, I didn’t magically get a burst of inspiration. But, I suddenly had the motivation to continue writing, and I began energetically researching my topic and adding some ideas. 

The third time my mom came into my room to pick up the platter of fruit, I had almost finished an outline of my paper. When she saw my progress, she gave me a proud smile, and gently grabbed the plate, now full of lychee pits. I didn’t tell her the lychees hadn’t been ripe; in fact, I said nothing. I pushed my chair back, stood up, and hugged my mother for a long time. Somehow,she knew that I needed that hug because we stayed like that until I let go. 

No words were exchanged, but that one night, I felt something change. I understood my mother better, realizing the sometimes unconventional ways she showed her love and care. Although she was hard on me sometimes, she knew when I really needed her loving concern,  and I was grateful for that. 

I can’t remember exactly what paper was causing me so much stress that night, and I can’t even remember what research I did. However, I remember the sourness of the lychees that my mom carefully and diligently peeled for me and the warmth of the hug we shared.