Today, I conducted an experiment.
I really like pomegranates.

I asked my mother to prepare some.
She peeled out the seeds
very carefully—
using a spoon
to keep the process neat,
precise, and clean.
But in the end,
there was a little less fruit.

Then I asked my father.
He peeled out the seeds
roughly—
with his bare hands,
no tools, no caution.
It looked like a ****** mess.
But there was more fruit to eat.

I realized their techniques
shaped how much I got—
one careful,
one bold.
Still, I enjoyed both.

And that’s when it clicked:
though my parents approach things differently,
the result is still the same.
They both made the effort
to bring me something sweet