Caimito and Chico

The two fruits I terribly miss out here in the US: the sweet and soft purplish caimito (Star Apple) and the sweet and grainy brown chico (Sapodilla).

My brother and I grew up climbing the caimito trees fronting our house. We had our own favorite branches where we’d while away the lazy afternoons of youth… almost like waiting for the fruits to ripen right next to our faces. Just sit on a branch, reach for a shiny tender one or two, and gorge away.

Friends and neighbors passing by would see us lounging on the branches; we’d pitch them as many ripe caimitos as they could carry. Most of the time, Papa would be at the foot of the tree, catching fruits my brother and I tossed down -- our very own version of "playing catch."

I remember though, that I never ate the Star Apples piled high on our dining table fruit basket. Not even the ones cooling in our refrigerator. I only ate caimito that I had just picked from our trees with my own hands -- fresh, organic, pesticide-free. Good old days.

Our chico tree was a different story. The tree itself was too dense to lounge in, plus it hosted the life cycles of all kinds of bugs -- spiders, mostly. You’d have to work your way through webs, ants, and aphids to get to the good branches, and then you’d have to literally go out on a limb to reach the fruits. The chico tree taught us how to pick fruits from the ground, using a really long stick rigged with a wire loop (to snag the fruit) and a bag (to catch the snagged fruit) at the end.

Ah, memories of long ago and far away. Our parents were the best; they made sure my brother and I had a wonderful childhood growing up alongside an assortment of fruit trees.

Oh yes, we also had guava, mango, tamarind, santol, avocado, guyabano, and kamias, all lush and fruit-bearing in our yard. I have poignant stories about each of these trees. I’ll write them one of these days.

Counting more blessings

Last night I had dinner with a friend. Let’s call him John.

John is a survivor. He was diagnosed with cancer of the throat last year. After a series of chemo and radiation treatments, he’s finally cancer-free. As with most cancer patients, he lost a lot of hair and muscle. Other than that, you can see from the smile on his face and the spring on his step that he’s fully recovered. Not quite.

Over dinner, he told me that the radiation treatment for his throat killed not only the cancer cells, but also the roots of his teeth, his taste buds, and his salivary glands. Eating is now a horrendous ordeal.

Without saliva, the whole mouth would be dry, and everything you eat will be dry. Food particles will stick to your gums, teeth, tongue, and all over the mouth. And try bringing all that into your throat to swallow. Without saliva, the food will have a tough time going down. You’ll have to push every mouthful with a gulp of liquid.

John said he now knows how awful it feels to eat toast, chips, and nuts without the slimy natural fluids in his mouth. His doctor says he can eat anything so that he can regain his strength, but without saliva, even sweets and desserts stick to his mouth like glue. Eating is such a chore that he would often just forget about it altogether.

The doctors aren’t sure if or when John’s salivary glands will come back to life. In the meantime, he will have to come to terms with something that’s certainly much better than the alternative.

I congratulated John on his recovery and overwhelming strength of spirit. I was really happy to see him again. After we hugged and parted ways, I said to myself, “Next time I feel rock bottom and depressed about my state in life, I’ll count my blessings by starting with my fingers, and add: ‘My salivary glands work!’”