Rewind. On my first trip to Bangkok in 2002, I brought home a few kilos of sweet and juicy sampalok for my Mom to enjoy. I remember the sharp look I got when I offered some to my Titas. "Akin yan," her eyes firmly said.
Fast Forward. Seven years later (and six years after my mother died), I am almost surprised to see a graceful sampalok tree standing right by her old bedroom window. Unknown to me, she had planted a seed from that bunch, and it has grown and propagated not just the fruit, but the memory of that day, her joy and her generosity as well.
Pause. Seven years ago, I brought my mother a pasalubong. Seven years later, she gave it back to me.
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