I read somewhere the act of peeling oranges for someone is
considered love. I had mixed thoughts about it. I wondered if it was an excuse
for not taking care of yourself or if it was being loved. I knew it was love, I
guess it was love. But then I thought it was something the social media was
feeding our system. A narrative being started to cause tension in relationships
that were, before, perfectly fine. I couldn’t deny that it was an act of love,
but I couldn’t justify why one needs to feel that.
I am away from my home state in another state. People speak
a different language and the whole premise of my life has just shifted. Away
from people I love, away from people who love me. I knew, before I came here,
that I needed to love and care for myself more this time because people who
could care for me or fill my part weren’t here. Self-Love. Taking care of
yourself.
These days my city is burning, hotter than ever. Heat waves
and everything. So, to fight that I bought my favourite fruit, watermelon. I
like it a lot. I brought an “almost a kg” watermelon back to my room. I cut
one-fourth and ate it. Then cut another quarter and saved it to take it to the
office the next day. But in the haste, forgot to. Came back the next day and
ate the watermelon that I had packed for that day.
Three days went by. Yesterday, I was back in the room.
Exhausted from the traffic and heat. As I lay down for a minute, I remembered
the half-melon left in the fridge. I knew it had to be eaten that day or else
it’d be rotten.
I was just too tired.
I did laundry which had to be done. Read some documentation,
which had to be done. Prepared a report for the next day, which had to be done.
Everything that had to be done was done. Walked over to the fridge and put out
the left melon over the table. Couldn’t find the knife to cut it, searched for
it. Few minutes.
I was just too tired. So, I walked past the table over to my
bed and laid down. I could still see the leftover watermelon. Still bright, not
yet spoiled.
I talked to my mom. I brushed my teeth. I read a book for a few minutes, and
realized,
“Damm that watermelon.”
I got up at once. Turned the whole shelf over to find the
knife. Cut that watermelon, put it in the bowl, and eat it. Ate all of it, then
and there. As I ate in silence, I understood what that “orange theory” meant,
or at least realized what I couldn’t comprehend. It was love, true. It was. But
not peeling orange or cutting watermelon. It was being taken care of. Being
taken care of, by someone or even yourself.
Back when I was in my hometown, my mum knew I liked
watermelons so she would buy them for me. Occasionally if I accompanied her to
the market, I would even refrain from buying it, because the thought of me
taking care of myself in the sense that I treat myself with my favorite thing
felt strange. But my mum bought it. And in my home, the watermelon would sit in
the fridge for a few days. Mum would remind me every day to eat it and I would
forget about it. She would ask me to cut it and eat it since she only bought it
for me and even if I tried, I would get distracted and find some other chore
that must be done.
She would get disappointed and angry. She would ask me, “If
you don’t want to eat it then don’t, just cut it for me I want to eat it” and I
would stand up, go to the kitchen, find the knife, cut the watermelon for her
put it in the bowl and take it over to her room and give her that. I would
still refuse to sit and eat it or occasionally would put just a piece of it in
my mouth. After a while, she would come to my room with fresh-cut watermelon
and give it to me. I would say. “Oh, I don’t want to eat it you know, I just
told you”. She would say nothing and leave the room. After a while, I’ll start
eating that watermelon she brought for me. Piece by piece. Enjoy it. It’s my
favorite fruit after all. Then, I would go to the kitchen to put my empty bowl
in the sink. And my mum, she would have the brightest smile on her face to see
that empty bowl.
I realized it then and as I’m recalling it now, that taking
care of myself has been such a low-priority task for me for so long. I would
say to people I’m too lazy to care for anyone, but I do find myself doing the
same thing for someone else, something that I wanted to do for myself.
Ever since I dreamt of “dreams” I have always shared it with
or associated it with someone. It was one of my dreams as a kid to share my
major and minor life experiences with someone. To live with someone, to work
with someone, to talk to someone, to move in with someone. To be friends with
someone, to marry someone, to be part of someone’s family, to be someone for
someone. A variable constant feeling of being able to feel anything. So now,
often I feel empty and sad where most people might have felt happy and excited.
I realized this is part of the reason. When you have spent a major time of your
life, growing up and believing, hoping to find someone to share everything,
happy or sad with you, it empties your heart when there’s no one around you. In
the naïve attempt of trying to share myself with people around me, I did
subconsciously and sometimes consciously suppress anything that was all mine.
You can say, I fantasized about taking care of someone so much that I forgot I
had to take care of myself. And lately, I realized I’m not that good at taking
care of someone too. A complete lose-lose situation.
As I sat last night, eating watermelon that I cut for myself even though I had to push myself to do it, I realized love it is. Not peeling oranges but being taken care of.
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