My childhood self was always fascinated by the mandarin tree in my Nani’s house. Each thumbnail sized wedge had to be handled with utmost care until it was crushed and torn apart between my teeth, releasing a tinge of bitterness that laced sour pulp.

My taste buds were picky — I’d find my mom’s sugar-sweetened homemade marmalade from the same mandarins too bitter, but tasting freshly picked ones from the tree was an adventure.

My dad’s mother, Ma, would pamper me by peeling away at the piths of tangerine wedges as I only liked the pulp — the fibre was too tough to chew.

But this fuss seemed to vanish with mandarins. 

I was drawn to how simple they looked from the outside, and the intricate fibers they held within.

During a social-distanced visit to my grandparents, I instinctively found my 22 year old self back under the tree. My inner child kicked in, intrigued by how mandarins in different life stages coexist — one stem held a raw green and a ripe orange together.

I was hesitant to separate the two and to take from the tree, but after seeing another lying crushed underneath, I found myself plucking a mature mandarin.

The staleness of my daily routine stood in sharp contrast against this decades old tree, reminding me that I need to spend more time outdoors. 

Grounding exercises, which are used to connect you instantly with the present moment by using the five senses, include using citrus fruit scents and tastes to alleviate symptoms of dissociation.

Later that evening, when mom sliced through the mandarin peel, its sour-bitter scent filled the kitchen, grounding me to the present — though parts of me might always be trapped in pre-pandemic March 2020.