Lining up under the faint lunar beam, the synthetically intoned MTR announcement echoed, “Please stand behind the yellow line…”

The dazzling lights and a sudden swirl of breeze transported me into a different realm. I struggled to move into the carriage and soon channelled among the tired bodies.

Another night of class, after another day of work.

Beams of light refracted against my skin, forcing my body to function. It felt like it was okay to work a little longer. Just kept focusing on the tasks to be completed.

Back at my flat, I peeled an orange as a nutritious snack.

Every time I peel an orange, my thumb hurts. The peel is thick and glossy, with no weak spot to attack.

Back when I was a child, after finishing dinner at home, Mum would take care of the dishes while Dad would wash some fruit for us. I always sat there, with my eyes fixated on the TV screen. Sometimes, I would quietly watch and wait for Dad to peel the oranges. My parents always bought oranges because they are cheap and healthy. There was even once that they brought a box of around fifty oranges home! That’s how much they love eating them.

Dad has a pair of big, rough hands, holding the orange as if Gulliver were on the tiny man’s island. As large pieces of peel separated themselves from the flesh, a unique and refreshing scent filled the room. If one peel got near a flame, the flame would dance vigorously, celebrating the sacrifice of another orange.

One, two, three. Dad would divide the flesh into three portions.

They were always uneven, as he claimed his authority over the family and the honour of conquering the orange. While waiting for my orange ration, I sometimes felt disdain for what he did. Why bother with these little things when you are THE father? Why should a father calculate every tiny bit with his wife and daughter when it comes to sharing an orange? When the orange was not even bought by him! I mean, maybe he paid part of it, but it was Mum who carried them home from the wet market. Oh, it’s not just the fruit but every dish on the dining table. He would always pick the largest chicken drumstick, the biggest abalone, and the most of everything.

It was not fair, I always remarked.

There were exceptional cases, though. Indeed, quite a few.

When the orange was exceptionally sour, he would give us one or two slices more, just like the food he doesn’t like. Sometimes he would peel a new one, ‘reserving’ the last one for us. And if the fruit tasted exceptionally good, he would just tell us to take another one ourselves.

Mum doesn’t know how to peel an orange.

Like me, she tends to hurt her fingers. So, she cuts it with a knife, leaving some juice spilled on the table. But that’s fine because she is not as stingy as Dad. She doesn’t regard the oranges as dearly as he does. Most importantly, I do not particularly like eating oranges. The sourness always attacks my teeth and somewhere in my head, making me feel anxious and tense. It doesn’t feel natural. Therefore, when I stretch my mouth and use considerable strength to crumble the fibrous slice, the flesh seems to struggle for survival, telling me it is not as good as it smells, that I should let it go. But I won’t. After all, it costs time and money to buy, water to wash, strength to carry, to peel, and to consume. I know how many minerals it contains, along with its side effects of weight loss and benefits for constipation patients like me. So, I always fight with it and with myself until the large chunk travels down, taking up space in my stomach. Maybe I’ve become as stingy as my father without realising it. What was left on my desk was the cold, dried peel that gradually lost its sparkle.

Now that I have grown up, I no longer struggle when I swallow the flesh.

I can even eat the whole orange as I please! Sometimes, I will peel the oranges while sometimes I will cut them. Though I have never liked the sourness of oranges, somehow, it doesn’t bother me anymore. Oranges can relieve my constipation and bloating issues—that’s why I eat them regularly.

After a quick shower, I lay down and tried to get to sleep as scheduled while the moon revolved at its own pace. As the dim moonlight gently fell on me, I tried to process my feelings, slowly relax and settle down after the hectic day.

I am still on the way to embrace the person that I am becoming, at my own pace.