May your days consist of nothing but the sweet taste of vitamin C and light pulp


“Something so vibrant and pure can illuminate my dark hallway that is the month of February.”

Before my time in classroom 140, I never would have put any significance into a citrus fruit. But it wasn’t until mandarin oranges made me realize how I’ve grown with the sweet taste of vitamin C and light pulp lingering on my tastebuds. 

Like candy, the sugary goodness of a temporary snack satisfies me, but unlike artificial food dye, fruit makes my body sing with healthier, stronger vows. The illusive song of the peel letting go of orange slices makes the saliva in my mouth belt—I’ve always had some sort of melody stuck in my head.

The stress that makes me sink is washed away with the smell of clementines as my dad gets a late-night snack. I pack up my backpack for the night and reminisce on the fresh smell of oranges—I’ve always loved natural fragrances.

Adventures that fabricate my favorite memories are encased with a fruity hug. I’m embraced with friendly memories of my other half and I eating Cuties while remembering earlier times; the way I ate my oranges at a younger age was the funniest thing of our childish minds—I’ve always enjoyed making others smile.

The sting of soap is nothing compared to the stabbing of a thousand needles drenched in citric acid. Whenever I cut bitter produce, I perpetually get juice in my honey-colored, almond-shaped eyes—I’ve always dreaded slitting spheres on the cutting board.

I could never express enough gratitude to the spurts of boredom I perceived in the seasons before the pandemic. I would always purchase orange juice in petite cartons—without the pulp—and patrol hours of Netflix like it was my duty when I should have been finishing my science homework instead. It got repetitive and tedious, but the taste of pulpless juice racing down my throat was something I could never get sick of—I’ve always resented being restless.

My oranges mean nothing to me nor will they ever hold any more importance than one of my favorite fruits, but secretly, the sight of something so vibrant and pure can illuminate my dark hallway that is the month of February.

I take for granted the fresh smell, sight, and taste of the little things in life. I let the positive waves of all the good things drawback and away from my beaches. I let my orange trees left the fend for themselves.

I should smell every flower. I should disconnect and look at the sunset. I should taste every fruit. I should let the current pull me back in with it. I should tend to my own orchard.

I need to stop. 

I need to let go. 

We need to allow the citrus fruit to hold significance.