IF A FIG has rosy juicy flesh, a violet soft peal, and a purely sweet taste, then it's nothing more than an ordinary fig.
I eat figs. I've had many of them. They are of different shapes and sizes, but they are just common fruits from the fig trees. They were born from the branches. Then they mature, drop to the ground, and become a dirty mud. I have little knowledge of them and don't need to. Figs are like people I encounter everyday, plain and ordinary, but sweeter.
It's hard to tell if you love or hate an ordinary person. The same applies to the fig. This strangely modest kind of fruit doesn't even bloom. They hide the most joyful period of a fruit , which is being a flower, and bloom nowhere. However, figs somehow proved that I was wrong.
One day, I cut a fig into two halves. For the first time I saw the complete inner figure of the fig. Flesh resembling powerful claws streched desperately towards the center, while the center held nothing. Isn't it like what life is, marching towards the future with all its strength and eagerness? It struck me with a great sense of life's never-ending struggles, which won't stop until approaching the uncertain end of death.
Later I learned that what I had thought to be the flesh of the fig was actually its flower. All the time I ate the sweet flowers with no aware, and assumed the fig was blossomless. Ignorant was I, the fig was never some ordinary fruit. It's like us. We are all figs. The fig has an inner world that holds life's struggles and vitality. Similarly, we humans hide our emotions and thoughts in our invisible mind. Only through pieces of words can others get a glimpse of what we are thinking. Each person may seem like nothing out of the ordinary, but we all have a beautiful and invaluable mind.
And for us humanity, we live on the tiny earth in the vast universe. Our home earth is only a small fruit on the enormous tree of the cosmos. It never lets out a spark, nor does it bloom. The earth itself is a fig. Every living being leads a different life, yet the flowers of such vivid lives are invisible from the outside.
But we will not despair, as life itself is never for a certain purpose. To live, whether being seen or not, is simply beautiful.
