Over the Sink

Summer is in full swing, and the watermelon is ripe and ready. I had a hankering for a slice, just enough to savor the sweet, refreshing taste. But with dida, a slice was never just a slice.

We stood over the sink, the enormous watermelon between us, and dida’s eyes were alight with a determined glint. He sliced into the melon, the juices running, and handed me a generous piece.

“Jedi,” he urged, handing me another slice before I even finished the first. Eat.

I looked at the mound of watermelon building up in my hands, my stomach already feeling the strain. “Dida, that’s enough,” I protested, but he was on a mission.

“Na,” he said, pushing another slice towards me. “We have only a few days to finish this.”

“Eto,” he added, as if that settled it. There.

I stared at the watermelon, feeling both drawn to its delicious flavor and repelled by the sheer volume. Dida’s compulsion with going through food quickly was a known trait, but this time it seemed to have reached a new level.

He watched me, expectantly, his own hands filled with watermelon, and he ate with a joy and gusto that was contagious. I found myself joining him, bite after juicy bite.

The conversation flowed as easily as the watermelon, and we talked about everything and nothing, the summer day stretching out before us. But the watermelon kept coming, and my stomach began to protest.

“Dida, I can’t eat anymore,” I finally said, my hands sticky with juice.

He looked at me, his eyes twinkling, but with a hint of disappointment. “We must finish it,” he said, almost pleadingly.

“I looked at the watermelon, now significantly reduced but still formidable, and shook my head. “I can’t, dida. It’s too much.”

He sighed but didn’t press me further. He finished his portion and leaned against the sink, a contented smile on his face.

We stood in companionable silence, the remnants of the watermelon a testament to a meal well-enjoyed, if a bit overdone.

Finally, dida spoke, his voice soft. “It’s not about the watermelon, you know.”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“It’s about enjoying what we have, while we have it. Life is too short to let a good watermelon go to waste.”

I smiled, understanding now. It wasn’t about the compulsion or the quantity; it was about the moment, the shared experience, and the simple joy of being together.

We left the kitchen, the watermelon forgotten but the lesson remembered. Sometimes, the things that seemed too much were just right in their own way, and a meal with dida was always more than it seemed. Even if my stomach did feel like it might burst.

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