Published by: Jadelynn Arnigo
Date Published: July 23, 2025
Time Published: 11:17 AM
Category: Prose
Theme: The surreal feeling of having someone to peel orange for me, because I used to peel my own orange
Growing up, I’m the child who always figures things out on her own. I never bother to ask for help because I had no one to ask, so I pushed myself to do it, to bear it alone. Even if help was offered to me, my first instinct was to decline it. I don’t want to trouble others. I am that daughter who always carries things on her own and does everything all by herself, not because I want to, but because I need to. I was forced to carry things that it became a normal occurrence for me. Yes, I am that independent child. The one who my parents never needed to worry about because I know how to handle it on my own. I know how to fix things all alone.
I used to peel my own orange every time, not that I don’t want to; the truth is, the sole reason why I’m doing it myself is because I was forced to.
As someone who’s so independent, I am used to doing all things on my own, so peeling my own orange isn’t that much of a big deal. I can do it myself. I don’t need to ask for help, because in fact, I don’t even know how to ask for one, knowing I don’t have someone to ask anyway. I forgot how it feels to have someone who I could share my burdens with a long time ago. The independence within me made me believe that maybe I don’t need others. Maybe I don’t need to have someone. Maybe I only need myself. I only need to rely on myself. Having to only rely on myself feels like holding a sword. It protected me, made me mature, made me empowered, made me strong. Yes, the sword is in my hand to protect me, yet it feels like I am the one being cut by the blade. It is the reason why I bleed, the reason for my silent struggles, the reason why I kept everything to myself—trapped, hidden, and caged.
It made me strong, yet helpless. I fought my own battles, my silent battles, while silently longing for the arms to reach for me, to fight alongside me.
"Let me peel that orange for you."
They reach for the fruit that I am holding, and I am left there, speechless. Unmoving. Unsure of what to do. Should I give it? Should I let them? Should I turn them down? But like a muscle memory from the years that I have done it myself, my fingers instantly tightened out of habit. Yet they smiled warmly and gently took it from me, not letting me speak at all, and began peeling it—slow, as if it has all the time in the world. I always know what to do, but in that particular moment, I am lost. I forgot how to react, how to think rationally, as if everything around me suddenly stopped working and the world stopped spinning.
They remove each layer of the fruit gently, as if it is a precious one. Unbeknownst to them, they peel something in me too—the one that I thought was long gone. The one who longed to be held with so much care and love. The scent of citrus filled the air, warmth and soft. I could feel the tightening in my chest, not because of fear but because of forgotten, familiar comfort. For the first time, I allowed myself to be cared for, to be loved, to be helped, and strangely, I don’t feel weak at all. All my life, I have been peeling my own oranges and believed that it meant that I am strong. But letting someone do small things for me, I felt like it made me stronger, braver—not because they did what I wanted to do myself, but because I allowed them to make me feel loved, appreciated, and cared for.
The sword I have been carrying protected me, yet it made my hands too rough to recognize beauty and softness. I wore my independence all throughout my life as if it is an armor, and now, I feel safe to remove it—to lay it down. Slowly, I’m healing, embracing the fact that I don’t live just for myself. Maybe I was never meant to carry it all alone. I was meant to be cared for, and being cared for is not a weakness. It is trust. It is hope. Because the truth is, it’s not just about peeling the oranges. It is about knowing that there is someone who is willing to do things for me, no matter how small it is, even when I did not ask them to. I thought healing is when you’re having a therapy session, but right now, healing is when you let someone stand with you. It looks like someone holding an orange and peeling it for you. The healing that I never asked for—but needed. And learning to receive, to accept it, to appreciate? That too is bravery. A rare, quiet kind of bravery that stays.
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