Everyone in my family likes eating watermelon. They will always have it for a snack or a dessert after a meal whenever available. Each of them prefers different shapes of watermelon served for them. My parents like it when they are cut in tri-angular form with the skin on the bottom and my sister likes it when they are cubed without the white part of the watermelon. I prefer the cubed ones. Well, I used to.

I lived in a small apartment with two bedrooms and one bathroom for my entire childhood before going into elementary school. Back then, it was hard to see my parents. My mom was away for days in different countries, and when she came back, she was so tired that she could not spend time with us. After a day or two of resting, she was back on the airplane. My dad came home late at night, usually when I was in bed. Almost every day, I left with my sister and my grandmother, traditionally called “Halmoni” in Korean. When my sister had to go to elementary school and after-school studying class for the entire day, I was left all alone with Halmoni. She had to take care of me day and night until she passed away. A year after her death, my father’s business prospered, and we moved into a larger apartment with three bedrooms, one study room, and two bathrooms both with bathtubs. I started going to elementary school, and we hired a lady who would take care of my sister and me after school.

When my family was still living in the small apartment, watermelon was something valuable, especially during wintertime. We shared the fruit when all of the family members were present, which was a rare occasion. However, I was a selfish and immature child who didn’t want to share her favorite fruit with the others. One evening in winter, before having a family meal, I privately asked my grandmother to cut the watermelon into cubes just for me. She was cooking in the small kitchen, slicing the carrots for beef-and-vegetable stir-fry.

“You will have to wait until all of us finish the food. We will share the watermelon as dessert,” Halmoni told me as she was rinsing the last carrot. I got irritated. Even when I couldn’t do the math, I knew that I would be receiving less watermelon if it was shared between five people. I dragged on Halmoni’s blue apron, begging her to cut if for me. I kept on walking around the small kitchen hall to annoy her, but she didn’t budge to give me the treat. She constantly told me to be patient and went back to her boiling pot with beef-bone soup.

I don’t know why, but back then, the only thing that I wanted was watermelon. I was obsessed with it. And Halmoni, who rejected my request, turned to a malicious ghoul. Everything seemed unpleasant until I took a bite of that cold, juicy, and sweet watermelon guarded by the demon.

So I sat on the ground and pleaded for watermelon as I swung my arms and legs to grab her attention. When it did not work, I cried, and yelled, and shrieked, and yelled at her with words that I would regret forever.

“When I grow up,” I cried, pointing at Halmoni’s hand, which was holding a kitchen knife for cooking. “I will use that knife to kill you!”

The words came out so quickly and suddenly, and as soon as I said it, I regretted right away for saying such a thing to Halmoni. She was someone who spent her last years with her granddaughter day and night, someone who walked me every single day to pre-school as a substitute for my mother. However, even when I was aware of my mistake right away, my childish pride didn’t let me apologize to her. I kept on crying, afraid that Halmoni would yell at me. But Halmoni didn’t say anything. She served me nicely cubed watermelon, which I munched happily. I still did not apologize.

Time passed, and I erased that incident from my head. Halmoni also did not say anything. I was enjoying watermelon as usual, and my grandmother gladly served it for me. Then, the next winter came, and my grandmother passed away from cancer. Watching her buried in the ground, the words that I shouted to Halmoni struck to me again. But I already lost the chance to apologize to her. I remember standing in my room alone, silently sobbing. I could not, and still, can’t, eat or look at watermelon without torturing myself. I became extra careful with my words, and I was always the first one to apologize whenever there was a conflict. The time left for me to grieve and regret is the punishment for my childish actions.

And I will take it.