When life gives you mangoes

Hello, summer. The heat is impossible. It is also beautiful.

My heart is telling me to write about our beautiful mango trees — one in front, right by the gate and another in the backyard, off to one side — and the delicious burong mangga we have been making for weeks now from the fruits of the tree. Some of them fall off before they even reach their full potential, nothing bigger than the size of a golf ball, but they are beautiful just the same. We gather them and they are peeled and sliced and coaxed to surrender to the gentle onslaught of salt and sugar and the beautiful magic that we all know as pickling. As I write this I am drenched in sweet under the summer heat, Richard is playing some Apo Hiking Society classics (Tuyo Na’ng Damdamin, Prinsesa, Panalangin, Pag-ibig) and the moment is just perfect.

I remember writing about pickled mangoes back in 2010, that time when I actually had some free time and I had just started a blog, open only to my friends. Before it could really take off, though, life took me by the shoulders and steered me in a different direction. I revisited that blog entry and I find that it still resonates with me now, even after five years. I am sharing it with you in full. All that I would like to add is that should you also decide to make pickled mangoes, never add water to the mix at any point; it does nothing but take away some of the joy.

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