a can of lychee

While browsing the internet, I stumbled upon a photo of a lychee can—a brand that was a staple in my household and holds countless fond memories. When we were kids, my parents would visit the supermarket and stock up on pantry essentials like dried goods and canned food. Among these, baked beans became a personal favourite of mine, but we also had sardines, canned fruits, and breakfast staples like pancake and brownie mix.

The canned goods, however, were always saved for last—often consumed only when the expiration date was looming or had already passed. We used to tease our parents, joking that we could open the canned fruits because the lids were already bulging. This wasn’t unique to our home; my aunt, who now lives in Australia, had a similar habit. She would serve us snacks or desserts long past their expiration dates, and we’d secretly run to spit the food into the bin as the food tasted bad—careful not to let her notice.

Now, back to the lychee can, which was my father’s absolute favourite. He had a ritual: he’d open the can, pour the fruit and syrup into a container, and chill it in the fridge. After every lunch or dinner, he’d retrieve it, slurp the cold juice, and savor the lychee flesh. It was a sacred moment for him, and no one at the table dared to ask for a share. It would’ve been like asking a lion to share its meal. Instead, we settled for what was served—usually a platter of watermelon or sliced mangoes for everyone to enjoy.

Fast forward to the present, when my Mom came to visit me in Thailand. We indulged in a fruit-eating spree, even traveling to a nearby province famous for its pomelos. Once my mom and sister figured out how to navigate the local market, I’d come home to find the dining table overflowing with fruits—including the infamous lychee. My sister and I ate with enthusiasm, and when there were leftovers, she peeled the remaining lychees and stored them in a container, just as my father used to do.

These moments are now cherished memories, and I’ve come to reflect on the traditions we had back home. We weren’t wealthy, and for my father, that can of lychee was one of his few pleasures. My aunt, too, came from a family that struggled financially, and her frugality reflected that. Now that we’re in a position to afford more, we’ve learned to share our blessings generously. It’s a cycle—a lesson in growth. You have to rise above the struggles to become a better version of yourself so you can bless others.