Musings On Plates and Place

By Rui Zheng

Mom always tells us to eat our fruits. Every day, there is an apple, or an orange, or a plate of strawberries sitting atop the dinner table for us after lunch. We happily consume the sweet, juicy treats, taking the meticulous love with which they were prepared for granted.

We all move out at some point. Home suddenly isn’t three stories with two parents and a full, clean kitchen. Home is now a cramped room in a drab suite, where the water is either too hot or too cold and the mini fridge can’t even fit a full head of cabbage. Home is now broken heaters, and a bitter chill leaking in through the window that says: stay in bed, stay in bed, stay in bed. And now it’s been a month since I’ve felt the sweet crunch of an apple. And now I can’t tell if it’s just seasonal depression or nutrient deficiency. Maybe both.

Last week, I went to Walmart. Although I have the store layout memorized, I always take my time to browse through every aisle. After I observed all the varieties of Band-Aids sold, I found myself faced with a wall of multivitamins. I didn’t use to believe in dietary supplements — why take a gummy or a pill when you can, like, eat a balanced diet?

Sorry me, I don’t do that anymore.

19 is a weird age. I feel mature — independent, but not enough to muster up the drive to go downstairs to the communal kitchen and cook myself dinner. My room is a mess and here, there is no looming presence of Mom nagging me to clean up. Does it make me childish to wish for a plate of strawberries, meticulously washed and refreshingly cold?

I got two cartons of blueberries on my way out. I don’t know why exactly, but I finished all of them that night.

By Carmen Tan grapes

I disagree with the saying that “life is like a box of chocolates — you never know what you’re going to get.” Because life isn’t like that. It’s not always sweet and nice and wonderful. As someone who isn’t lactose intolerant, I think chocolate is something that is good most of the time.

Life is like a bunch of grapes. I should know. I’ve eaten grapes. The thing that makes them immensely different from chocolate is that grapes can be really bad or really good from each one to the next. The small unripe ones are sour and maybe even bitter. The ones that are cut from being thrashed around taste bruised but still sweet. You can’t really change the way grapes are — it’s all from the journey that they’ve been on.

Maybe your mother squished them a little too hard in the reusable bag along with her wallet and keys. Maybe your brother swung the bag a little too much and the trip made them woozy and warm under the sun. When they arrive at the table, you really don’t know which grape you’ll pick up once they’re all washed and shiny under the living room light. Grapes are what I think of as a snacking fruit. They’re small and you can eat a lot without thinking. When you’re distracted by talking with your friends or watching the latest episode of a show, you don’t know what grapes you’ve grabbed off the stem.

The sour grapes make your lips pucker as if all the moisture is draining out. They remind you of the bitter moments, the skin too tough and the pulp too much. Arguments and fights between loved ones. Game pieces left at the table after someone storms off. Rejection emails for something you looked forward to. Choked feelings when a friend has a situation you don’t know how to handle or resolve. The skin is too tough and the pulp too much.

The overly sweet grapes make you feel like you need a glass of water. The sweet, sweet memories from past years. Remembering the time you listened to stories about the different people your family members were, the different lives they lived. The connections you held with everyone, laughing together until your stomach hurts and your cheeks too. The sweetness of the grapes dissipates and you feel the emptiness when it’s gone.

The grapes that aren’t too sweet or too sour always have a good texture. They are plump and give you something to chew on. Not the sweetest memories or the most sour, but the moments when you feel accomplished. You’ve done something for yourself and you’ve gotten through the tough parts. The seeds have shrunk against the pulp and you can hardly remember how bitter they were before. Passing an exam and feeling good about yourself and your abilities. These grapes are more satisfying than the small ones, but they taste neutral, even bland.

Each grape is different from the last, from the skin to the pulp. While chocolate in most chocolate boxes will be sweet, the taste of grapes fresh from the stem can’t be predicted. There’s no manual with pictures to describe each grape with its ingredients; there’s no cheat sheet. Living and how to live — there’s no book that could possibly describe everything. Everyone’s experience will always be different. Some of us have more sour grapes and some of us will have sweeter ones from time to time. Maybe you know what grapes you like; you plan out everything once you go to the market and you pick the best bunch. But there’s no guarantee that every grape in the bag will be as sweet as you expected. Grapes are unpredictable — life is unpredictable.