Observations on the Grapefruit

I have always loved all kinds of citrus – the zing freshly-squeezed lemon juice adds to a meal; the satisfying sweetness of a naartjie (similar to a mandarin/tangerine, for my international friends); and above all, the orange. This is because some of my fondest childhood memories include reading Asterix or The Famous Five with my dad – and stopping to find a snack because the Famous Five were ALWAYS picnicking, and we weren’t about to be left out. I remember lying across the bed, book propped open on the floor below, sucking the juice out of an orange sliced through its equator. Once it had been drained of the last drop, you could invert the half and eat the left-behind bits of halved and sapped segments. To this day, the merest whiff of orange takes me back to my dad and those books.

All citrus, that is, besides grapefruit. I developed an early loathing for the grapefruit, which my father’s assurances about its excellent flavour and deeply refreshing qualities did nothing to assuage. I remember attempting *minute* pieces of the fruit, always spitting it out hastily, repulsed by its bitterness. As a child, I was always a seeker of sweetness, and I could not fathom why anyone would choose to eat this tart fruit.

It is only recently that I have developed a deep affection for the grapefruit, and learned an appreciation for its unique taste and scent. Here is my new-found conclusion about this fruit: if you eat a grapefruit tentatively, hesitantly, all you will discover of it is its bitterness. In fact, as happened to me as a child, that bitterness may overwhelm you and prevent you from ever wanting to sample a grapefruit again. But if you eat a whole chunk of grapefruit, if you go ahead and chew away on it all at once... it is only then that you discover the (best kept) secrets of the grapefruit: its sweetness, its incomparable flavour and the bouquet of its scent.

The grapefruit requires an all-or-nothing approach. Another childhood memory: standing on the edge of a pool, wondering if I dared leap, shrieking, into the cool depths. Sun beating down on me, toes curling away from the blazing heat of cement beneath them, the water beckoning – and yet all the fears of the cold and the unknown of the water tugging me back. Teetering on the brink – do I dare? Will I dare? Now! Not yet. Now! Not yet... But once the courage had been summoned, and the leap leapt, the water was usually always more delightful than you thought it would be. The same holds true, I find, for the grapefruit. One can’t simply dip one’s toes in. One must dive headfirst into the eating of the grapefruit.

I think the reason why I am appreciating this fruit now more than I ever have before is that this all-or-nothing response to this particular citrus is how I feel life should be lived. Forrest Gump taught us all: “Mama always said life was like a box of chocolates – you never know what you’re gonna get,” and although I will always remain appreciative of Mr Gump and his views, I’d rather compare life to the grapefruit. Life is NOT consistently sweet, but one can’t creep around the edges of it, recoiling at the first contact with bitterness. Every time we flinch back, we miss discovering the sweetness on the other side of the acerbic. When South African rugby boys are learning to tackle, they are taught, “Hoe harder jy ingaan, hoe minder maak dit seer” (the harder/more aggressively you go in for a tackle, the less painful it will be). Perhaps this is an oversimplification, and I’m sure many a rugby player has looked back on this advice ruefully... but I am still convinced that it is far better to embrace life – ALL of life – wholeheartedly, than only receive the gifts wrapped in the prettiest paper.

I have tasted something of the soul-rending bitterness which accompanies the human condition and existence; though perhaps I cannot equate my experience with many others who have suffered far more than I (is it possible to measure and compare individual suffering though? I remain unconvinced). When I take the time to truly *see* another person, especially someone who seems to know more of life’s pain than I do, I wonder if this advice – this charge to embrace all of life fully, even recklessly – is folly; is insulting. But what I know to be true is that every time I have attempted to numb my heart to pain, inoculate myself against sadness, I have succeeded only in dimming joy right alongside hurt. And that is something I never want to do. Joy is the Spirit, it cannot exist apart from him, and I never want to place him behind a locked door, nor even a veil. There are moments when I am overwhelmed by the bitterness I taste in the world, and my mind balks when I hear something like “God allows in his kindness what he could easily prevent in his power” (Graham Cooke); but my heart knows that to be true. Because my heart knows HIM to be true, his nature consistent, and consistently good. His joy will always be my compass, keeping me facing the truest North through bitter waves and the sweetest of waters.

As a child, I was always a seeker of sweetness – and I am still, and it is something I refuse to lose: joy is the serious business of heaven. But sometimes the sweetest moments lie just beyond the most bitter. So let us dive in, drink deep; let us eat up!