I remember, as a kid growing up in Los Angeles, my mom would buy mangoes in the summer as a special treat after dinner. I would get so excited when she’d bring some home. We didn’t have them often, maybe 2-3 times during the short summer season, which is what made them so special.

All my memories of mangoes are with my mom. I don’t remember anyone else in the family eating them. I don’t think it was intentional. Mangoes weren’t that available back then. And those that were available were a little pricey. So it was this special little thing that my mom wanted to share with me because she only had one or two. It was just the two of us in the kitchen enjoying the mangoes.

I remember my mom peeling the mango over the kitchen trash can, so beautifully. She was such a good fruit peeler and she had great technique. I can visualize the peel falling into the trash can and being really excited because I felt like she was unveiling this thing. For a child, it’s a very seductive fruit. It’s luminous and sweet. She’d hand me the whole peeled mango and I’d eat it like an apple. Eating it felt really indulgent and I just devoured it. I was such a messy mango eater. It was a slippery, slimy experience, with juice running down my face, but that was half the fun. I always took my time to enjoy every bite, all the way down to the pit.

But it’s the smell of mango that I find so intoxicating to this day. I have clear memories of the scent all the way back to when I was 8 years old. To smell a mango at the peak of ripeness was the best scent ever. Sweet, but not too sweet. Complex, but totally accessible. And captivating to the point where it could grab a child’s attention from across the produce section. For me, I think the smell of the mango was half the experience of eating the fruit, if not more.

Unfortunately, at the age of 19, while on a trip to Paris with my mom, I ate my last mango. Apparently I’d developed an allergic reaction to mangoes because I broke out with an awful rash around my face. I was devastated to find out I had developed an allergy to my favorite fruit. The following year I tried the tiniest bite of mango and again, the rash came back. I haven’t had a mango in decades now, but I am still obsessed with its aroma and it will always be my favorite fruit.

So today, even though I can’t eat mangoes, I can still enjoy the scent. Just looking at a mango now, my mouth waters. When I see a mango, I’ll always smell it. It makes me feel warm and relaxed. And it gives me a fuzzy feeling inside where I’m so happy.

More than anything, the smell gives me a sense of longing as I try to remember the taste of mango. It’s like replaying a song on a cassette tape that gets a little more faded and worn out each time. But it still brings me happiness because it reminds me of my childhood. I haven’t had a mango since I was 20, so it’s a part of my childhood, and it takes me back to a time when I was more innocent. Most importantly, it’s those moments with my mom. It’s a warm spot in my heart because those were moments together. She introduced me to the mangoes, and we had them in Paris.

If the scent had a sound, what would it be? Soft, gentle waves washing up against the shore on a sunny day.

If the scent had a color, what would it be? A perfect coral, kissed by the sun.

If the scent had a texture, what would it be? Smooth, like warm water passing gently through your fingers.

If the scent could give you advice, what would it tell you? Whatever brings you joy, embrace it! You never know how long you will have with someone or something before it’s gone. And even if you can’t enjoy the fruit anymore, hang onto the aroma and the memories because those are everything.