When I was a kid, I really loved to eat watermelons. I would sometimes eat them graciously with a spoon, with all the grace that a boy child could command. On other occasions I would just bite into the red flesh and spit the seeds out, often into the garden, but sometimes in the den.
As one gets older, one grows out of many things, and sadly, in my life, watermelons have been phased out.
This summer, there was a resurgence of watermelons. There seems to be always a tinge of watermelon in my unconscious. When I walk along the street, watermelons pop into my view, and I take notice of them. When I am staying in a hotel, and a buffet style breakfast is served, I seem to be taking more slices of watermelon than usual.
The other day I was pondering this comeback of watermelons in my life. Ostensively, it all started when I chanced upon some watermelons on the night streets during my last trip to China (end of June). The visit reminded me of a novel ("Hometown") by the Chinese writer Lu Xun that I read in my teens. In this novel, there is a beautiful description of the watermelon field.
It must be the connotations of nostalgia and forgotten psychology that kick-started the chain reaction. I am yet to pin down the significance of watermelons in my life.
Watermelons on the night street.