Stars For My Son

Star fruit slices

It was my son’s birthday yesterday. He is a true star in every way, especially in this relocation. I don’t use the word, “uprooting”, but the move felt like that and still does sometimes. He deals with it.

Rushing to get home, I was going to cook noodles for dinner. Chinese eat noodles on birthdays, for old and young family members, because the noodles symbolize a long life.

These star fruits were staring at me from a stand next to the subway station, waxy, yellowish-greenish, like the young leaves in early spring, like my son, who is full of vigor, tenacity, and curiosity.

Bought two of them. They made heaps of stars.

The fruit is as big as my hand

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