In my series titled “Cut Fruit”, I want the viewer to dive into experiencing the melancholy that I present within these photographs. Food, fruit in particular, has a way of connecting Asian children with their parents by showing love and empathy through an act of service. In my life, I have noticed a pattern within Asian households in which immigrant parents have trouble expressing their emotions. Nonetheless, if there is any tension in the home, expect a plate of fruit waiting for you. When mothers cut fruit for their children, it can mean many things, but it all stems from the lack of emotion in each household. A plate of cut fruit could be an unspoken apology after an argument, a congratulations for passing an exam, an “I love you” just because.

Growing up in a predominantly Southeast Asian city, my friends and I share the common feeling of being mentally blocked out by our families. Typical Asian households are strict and stern, and are only more difficult to deal with as an Asian-American child. I believe that growing up in America is already very contradictory. As Americans, we grow up being told that we should be able to express how we feel, yet if we express too much we’re soft and weak. In Asian culture, it is only the latter: There is no such thing as expressing your emotions, you work hard and deal with the cards you’re dealt. Any negative emotion you feel, whether it be stress or depression, is an unnecessary feeling. Past generations have been through actual wars and battles, and you are not allowed to complain about “being stressed”.

There is an extreme disconnect within stricter immigrant households, because immigrant children already struggle with the pressure of perfection and need to be successful in life. On top of that generational stigma, first generation American children face the pressure of needing to be successful as an American. Being born in a first world country, with parents that can afford to take care of you and pay for your education, is a privilege in and of itself. Growing up with almost no obstacles to stop you from succeeding in life, whilst being compared to parents that risked their lives to come to this country, is a pressure that is almost unexplainable. However, no matter what each generation is going through, there is a mutual agreement that cutting fruit solves everything.

Fruit can be gifted for special events, so much so that many Asian markets sell expensive fruits specifically for gifting purposes. Fruit arrangements have also become popular around the world, but nothing beats a plate of cut fruit from your mom. The phenomenon of “cut fruit” as an act of love stems from the act of service, although this can be achieved by anyone, it is different coming from immigrant families due to their materialistic nature. I don’t speak for all families when I say this, but many immigrant families are more likely to be materialistic due to coming from poor countries. Due to this theory, many families will apologize by giving their children money, or buying them something nice, which feels like the parents are trying to buy their forgiveness rather than actually taking accountability. When an Asian parent decides to give a plate of fruit as an unsaid apology, it implies meaning within the gesture itself. To take the time to peel all the rind off the orange, to cut up the apple rather than to give it to them as is, to plate it in a way that looks like there was effort put into it, is what makes the gesture an act of love.

In my photo series, I wanted to show the generational difference, or similarities rather, in cutting fruit. I wanted to take photos not only of fruits, but of the hands that cut the fruit and present them on a plate. I wanted to show my grandma, mom, and myself all doing the same action to show how this love language is passed down through generations. I was interested in details of the hands to show ageing as well, because no matter how old you are your mother is always going to love you and want to give you fruit to eat. The still life photos of the fruit plates show how small the gesture is, that something as simple as a few apples and oranges could mean so much. The fruit that is cut and presented, shows effort and attention to detail. The way some of my photos are shot are mainly meant to be up to interpretation based on other’s experiences with their mothers. Some of the still life photos are much sadder than the rest, and I wanted the viewer to feel sad and a little bit uncomfortable in the sense that there is no figure present in those frames. To wonder where the mother is, if they are “still in the picture” at this point, and how the fruits look to the child once the mother is gone.

Not only does the role of “the mother” get passed down each generation, but as a generation ends, the new generation is responsible for respecting those that passed away. When someone passes away in the family, there is usually a shrine of some sort for that person to pray to every so often. These shrines are on banisters that have candles, flowers, and 99% of the time: fruit. Not only is fruit a form of love, but it is also a form of respect. The addition of taking photos of my own hands with fruit is my take on what it would be like to step into the shoes of my mother and grandmother. Although I cannot replace them, I can learn from them and acknowledge how much they love and care for me. My cuts aren’t smooth or pretty, they’re uneven, the plate looks disorganized, and my workspace is messy. By the time I have children, they won’t have to worry about my terrible apple cutting skills. By then, I will have practiced cutting fruit well enough for them to enjoy, but it won’t stem from my emotional unavailability. All the practice will come from constant acts of love,
just because.