When I was younger, younger than I am now, I carried clementines with me wherever I went. I kept at least one in my coat pocket at all times. I could not eat unless in my own home; the world wracked my nerves too much for eating. But clementines did not seem like real food to me. More like, a burst of cold sugar water that would tide me over until I could get home and make something filling, and processed.
I kept my nails short. It made it easier to fish out the remnants of rinds, to wash off the citrusy smell that lingered on my fingertips. Their convenience made them an easy choice as much as their taste. Eating was obviously not allowed in an elementary, middle or high school class, but peeling a clementine under your desk and one by one popping a pouch into your mouth was rather inconspicuous. Those pouches of juice are actually called “segment membranes,” and the center of the fruit is called a “pith.” Not a pit, but a pith- the pits, or seeds, are inside the membranes themselves. They are delicate, and biting down on one by accident will result in a million little seed-shards dispersing across your pallet, ruining the experience.
I do not eat many clementines anymore. They are good in a pinch for a twinge of anxiety or simple hunger, but their presence in my pocket is less comforting than it used to be. With a spread of Nutella or peanut butter they make for a lovely dessert. But they no longer make me feel safe, or reassured. The world is bigger than clementines now. The world is less forgiving than the comfort of tucking discarded rinds into the bird’s nest outside your window, of knowing the sweet scent is permeating its way throughout the twigs and leaves that knit up their home.
In a sense, I was raised on clementines, and the comfort that they brought me in a world I constantly felt on the edge of. But the world is not always a comfortable place, and being comfortable all of the time is not necessarily a good thing. My life began when I learned to venture beyond my small realm of comfort. To leave my pockets free. To stop listening to the voice in my head that made me promise to never do anything unless I was one hundred percent sure it would go exactly as I planned. Now, I find most joy in exploring off-trail. I like the surprise, the never knowing what will be around the bend. I am at peace with my life maintaining that same level of unpredictability. I am not sure I have any other choice.
(none of the paintings included in this article are mine)
