A Mang-nificent Fruit
Noel Knight, 137 YinD
I knew when I came to Thailand for the first time that I would have the opportunity to try a myriad of new foods. When people inquired about my upcoming move, that was often what I cited as my biggest excitement. I would tell people I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I would be eating good! When you ask the average person what their favorite food in Thailand has been, most would likely say som tam or pad krapow. My answer, without hesitation, would be a sweet, beautiful mango. I travelled 8,677 miles to try mango for the first time at 23 years of age. It changed my life.
I have 5 siblings, each one pickier than the last. I, personally, never struggled with eating what was put in front of me as a child. My mom was not one to prepare specialized meals to match each of her children’s preferences, so I typically ended up eating whatever my siblings were willing to. Because of this, only a small variety of fruits ever made their way into our household. I was raised mostly on Granny Smith apples and strawberries. Years passed before I finally realized what a world of fruits I was missing. As I grew older and began to grocery shop for myself, I found myself playing catch-up to expand my palette. While I was doing my best to try as many new fruits as possible, at some point, mango slipped through the cracks. I remember a few years back, slicing up a mango for a couple of my neighbors I was babysitting. They offered me a slice, and almost instinctively, I responded “No thank you, I don’t like mango.”
I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a lie.
For some reason, I believed I did not like mangoes. In reality, I had never even tried one. I had, at some point in life, created a false memory in my brain that I had tried mango and decided it was not for me. I have no idea why, when this began, or even what sparked this ‘hatred’.
I theorize that perhaps I had tried something mango-flavored in my youth and didn’t care for it, and over time, this distaste grew into a hatred of all things mango-flavored. Maybe I had a particularly vivid dream in my childhood of trying a mango and hating it so I began to subconsciously reject the fruit altogether. Or, perhaps I’m just a big fat liar. I’ll never know!
The day everything changed for me was March 29th, 2026. I sat at my desk in the SAO. I was approached by my counterpart, bowl of mango in hand. It wasn’t what I was used to seeing… this mango wasn’t green. It didn’t look firm and dry but rather soft and juicy. I’m bad at saying no, so I khap khunka’d (thank you’d) and reached, hesitantly, into the bowl. I prepared myself for an unpleasant experience. Noel Knight, established mango hater, just trying to integrate into her community as seamlessly as possible. As I tossed the mango slice into my mouth, I silently prayed my counterpart would walk away with the bowl.
It was amazing. Everything—from the flavor to the texture to the color—was perfect. It was decadently sweet, with a subtle sour undertone. It wasn’t soft in the sense that it turned to mush in my mouth, yet didn’t feel like a jaw workout either. As I chewed, the vibrancy of the remaining mango in the bowl struck me. The orange color was beautiful—not a bright neon that hurt my eyes, but perfectly tinted—as if someone analyzed the color wheel and said: “This is the color that a perfect, 75 degree, sunny summer day would be.” The juices danced on my tongue and I felt my subconscious shift into another stratosphere. In this moment, I was infinite–my life forever changed.
Since this day, I can’t seem to get enough. It is consistently a featured dish during every meal. If I have a problem, mango is the solution. Didn’t sleep well? Mango for breakfast. Need kanom? Obviously, mango. Bored at the SAO? Mango break! It’s hard to imagine a time this fruit was not the center of my universe. A lighthouse during my most treacherous storms, calling me back home. I now understand the wars fought over seasonings like salt and pepper, as I would move heaven and Earth if someone were to deprive me of mango now.
I know the time I have to indulge is fleeting, as mango season lasts only through May, but in a way, that makes it taste even better. The beauty is that it doesn’t last forever; the sad truth is that the stars that burn the brightest often burn out the fastest as well. For now, I’ll continue to treat myself to as much mango as I desire. When June arrives, and mango season comes to a close, perhaps another fruit I have once rejected will find its way back to me. In the land of smiles, anything is possible.
