Harinanda Santhosh

First Place: Nonfiction

“Mango Tree” 
by Harinanda Santhosh
10th grade, Cumberland County Technical Education Center

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I stare intensely at the guidebook website dedicated to suggestions on how to dress according to your body type. As I flip through multiple pages of thin-waisted, lean, and petite models, my eyes refuse to scroll toward my own body type: round. I carefully examine the tall and thin models’ arms and waists. A sensation of insecurity sneaks into my nervous system. I was eight years old when I started feeling disgusted with my own human body.

The eight-year-old me strongly craved for having bones that peeked through my skin and thin legs that I could easily raise up high while jumping without feeling exhausted. But I had also strongly craved food just as much. After many trials of “I am going on a diet” with zero knowledge of how to approach a proper deficit, I found myself lurking around the pantry for just “a little tiny snack, just one.” The little tiny snack turned into uncontrollable cravings for more, leading into binging. After the binge, I carefully examined my stomach in the mirror. I started to outline my stomach using my little fingers, forcing it to turn into a square. I purposefully avoided outlining my round stomach shape and manipulated myself into thinking that the “small little snack” wouldn’t add more weight. I knew that was untrue, but I refused to admit it to avoid guilt.

The same me, five years later, stared into the mirror. The tall, thin model came to mind as I looked at my bloated belly, screaming to be let out from my jeans.  I sucked up to allow myself to see what I would have looked like if I did not stuff my face with food. Again, I traced my stomach using my fingers to compose an imaginary shape of a big, round circle. I looked at myself like I was the most atrocious, disgusting person in the world.

After a couple years of living in the United States, I visited India with my family, happy to reunite with all my extended family and friends. The state of Kerala is made up of vast plantations; of beautiful rivers that carry centuries of old tales; of children being exposed to the actual summer and running around outside, enjoying their youth; and of birds singing their secret songs as they try and identify each other in the trees. A wave of nostalgia hit me as I recalled my childhood running around all over the village, calling cousins and friends to come out and play even if it was excruciating weather. After seeing the little kids running around, I missed the feeling of not worrying about the roundness of my stomach or questioning whether I was eating too much. It was a time where the biggest concern was figuring out who was going to be the tagger in satu kalli, hide and seek.

During my time back, while walking through the beautiful plantations and trees in my village, I was met with, yet again, another striking hit of nostalgia as I saw the mango tree. Every kid in our village called it maduram manga maram, meaning “super sweet mango tree.” I was one of the best hitters to knock down mangos from our trees compared to all my cousins back then, so I grabbed a small rock to hit it right at the tip of the mango, knocking it down. I grab the ripe and brightly orange-and-yellow-colored mango. I examined the mango for any bugs or animals, and I caught myself tracing the mango unintentionally, just like how I would trace my body. I was taken back from my excitement to eat the mango as I accidentally did this movement.

The quiet gesture struck me with a realization that I had wasted a part of my childhood worrying about my weight and the shape of my body parts. After scanning the mango shape, my perception of my body shape changed significantly. When I examined the mango, I was trying to decipher the safety of the mango, looking out for any rotting signs or damages. The size of that mango did not even come across my mind when I had been wanting to eat it. I came to the conclusion that this is the same for my body, too. When I look at myself in the mirror, rather than obsessing over “Why can’t my stomach just be like how that model has it?” or  “My stomach is so round, I should stop eating so much,” I should remind myself, “Is there anything unusual around my body? Am I healthy? Are there any scratches or cuts?”

That moment allowed my thirteen-year-old self to realize the actual importance of self-awareness and my sense of living. It allowed my eight-year-old self inside me to realize that I am not a doll or property. I am an actual human. The round mango was the same as my round stomach that I was insecure about. But the only thing that matters is whether there is any harm in something, or if something is ever dangerous.

I wish I could to my talk to my eight-year-old self. I would deeply want to express to her to stop outlining the shape of her stomach.  Instead, to look over her actual skin and the protection it provides and to focus on creating a positive impact for others, spreading kindness and the awareness to be brave for who you are. I learned that no matter how imperfect your body might be compared to other standards, with authenticity and the ability to identify your own wrongs in behavior and personality, your body shape will not define you in any way, and it will be outshined by your positivity