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Sometimes the rambutan would already be peeled in a bowl waiting for me patiently in the fridge. The yellow jackfruit would give off a strong, distinctive smell as I open the same fridge door. With my hands already full, I would juggle a couple of small Lantudan bananas to my room quietly hoarding them for myself.
Ayne
Deborah Batterman
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Yes, food does anchor us with memories.
Author of JUST LIKE FEBRUARY, a novel (Spark Press), SHOES HAIR NAILS, short stories (Uccelli Press), and BECAUSE MY NAME IS MOTHER, essays.
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