I like mangoes ever since as I was a kid. And when I got huge, sweet and freshly picked mangoes from my dad, I’m pretty excited!
A few days later, I’m peeling and slicing through one of the mango excitedly – my mouth waters as I imagine the juicy cubes of the fruit melts into my mouth. The smoothness of texture, its sweetness flowing down…
Then I noticed something black with fine brown grains… a rotten patch.
The horror! Shivers goes down my spine, the hand holding the mango trembling. My eyes are projecting hallucinations of seeing worms crawling out of them despite there were none (blame the teachers who insist of drawing a worm crawling out of a rotten apple).
It’s only later then I overcome the feeling that I carefully separated the rotten part of the fruit and throw it inside the bin. However I still find it difficult to take a second look at it. The mangoes are great but still that lingering gross experience spoils my appetite a bit.
… Months later, I got a few more mangoes from my dad. And one of them is rotten as well, but somehow I gotten used to it. Maybe it’s the same with every gross experience in life: I sort of gotten used to it after a few encounters.