As the clock struck midnight and the world collectively ushered in another year over the last weekend, a peculiar tradition in the Filipino household still keeps me in awe.
Early in the morning of New Year's Eve, we dropped by the public market and saw the invasion of vendors selling, aside from horns and noisemakers, nothing but round fruits.
You know the tradition, don't you? Twelve round fruits gracing the New Year's Eve table is a must to secure good luck in the coming months.
Sorry, but let's get this straight. This long-held belief is as absurd as it is amusing. This is a tradition that, for us, transcends reason, defies logic, and leaves even the most seasoned skeptics scratching their heads in disbelief.
Firstly, let's talk about the obsession with the number 12. It's as if the universe has an unwritten rule that dictates everything must come in a dozen. Eggs, months, and now fruits. Who decided that 12 is the magic number for prosperity? Did some fruit aficionado stumble upon a secret ancient manuscript in an orchard outlining the cosmic significance of a dozen fruits?
The absurdity deepens when you realize the fruits aren't just any fruits — they must be round. Because, you know, only spherical fruits possess the mystical powers to ward off misfortune.
The shape of the fruit symbolizes the cyclical nature of life, the eternal loop of time, or the endless possibilities that a new year brings.
However, it's hard to take this argument seriously when faced with the stark reality that these fruits are often treated as more than mere symbols. They become the focal point of an almost ritualistic endeavor as families meticulously select and arrange them in a display that wouldn't look out of place in a contemporary art gallery.
The irony, of course, is that while the fruits are meant to bring good luck, the stress of finding the perfect 12 may very well counteract any potential positive vibes.
The cherry on top (pun intended) of this fruit-based absurdity is the belief that specific fruits carry distinct energies tailored for different months. For instance, the humble grape is burdened with ensuring a sweet January, while the papaya is tasked with bringing abundance in July.
Are we to believe that an entire month's fate hinges on a fruit's cosmic alignment? It's a heavy load for a pineapple to bear, considering its supposed influence on the success of August.
Perhaps the most preposterous aspect of this tradition is the unspoken assumption that the fruits themselves are aware of their cosmic roles. Do the oranges conspire with the apples to ensure a harmonious November? Are the strawberries bitter if they're relegated to a supposedly unlucky month?
Now, let's not forget the financial absurdity that accompanies this fruity fiasco. With the demand for round fruits soaring on New Year's Eve, it's not uncommon for prices to skyrocket.
Suddenly, pursuing good luck becomes a luxury only the fruit elite can afford. And what about the poor square fruits, hexagonal fruits, and fruits of irregular shape? Are they condemned to a year of misfortune simply because they don't conform to the arbitrary roundness standard? It's a discriminatory practice that the Fruit Rights activists should be up in arms about.
For all intents and purposes, the tradition of placing 12 round fruits on the New Year's Eve table is, without a doubt, a perplexing and whimsical affair. It's a symphony of absurdity, a carnival of cosmic fruit energies, and a testament to the human penchant for creating rituals that simultaneously baffle and amuse.
So, as you face 2024, take a moment to appreciate the absurdity of it all, and perhaps sneak in a few non-round fruits into your so-called offering.
After all, who says good luck can't come in a hexagon?
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