Sweetness After the Shatter

I first became curious about Tanghulu after seeing it in different places, in dramas where the glossy, candied fruit seemed almost too pretty to eat, and even in a fleeting concert segment where it was enjoyed so casually, as if sweetness itself could be part of the memory. I carried that image with me, the way it looked fragile yet tempting, polished yet fleeting. I told myself that if I ever had the chance, I would try it for real.

And luckily, I did. I stumbled upon a place that sold Tanghulu, the same glossy fruit I had only admired from a distance. Holding it in my hand felt almost surreal, like I was finally reaching for something I’d only ever seen behind a screen.

At first glance, Tanghulu looks like perfection sealed in glass, strawberries or grapes wrapped in a thin sugar shell, gleaming under the light. For a moment, it feels too perfect to touch, too delicate to disturb.

My first bite lived up to that perfection. The crack of the sugar shell gave way to the fruit inside, and for a second it was exactly how I had imagined it: sweet, crisp, and almost magical. But by the second bite, I learned something new. Tanghulu isn’t exactly graceful to eat especially when the fruit inside feels a little too big for your mouth (at least for mine; maybe others wouldn’t find it as tricky). It can get a little messy that way. I don’t know about others, but I found it better to eat the fruit one by one rather than biting across. Because the moment you crack through the sugar shell, there’s a small burst of sweetness waiting inside, almost like a hidden surprise you only get to taste after the shatter.

And that’s when I realized: Tanghulu was never meant to stay flawless.

The moment you bite into it, the sugar cracks. Sometimes it shatters all at once, sometimes it splinters into uneven pieces. What looked polished becomes messy in an instant. And yet, in that very shatter, you taste the sweetness you came for.

Life feels a lot like Tanghulu.

We spend so much time trying to keep things together, holding up our glossy surfaces — the version of ourselves that looks intact, shiny, untouched. But no matter how careful we are, life cracks us open. Disappointments, heartbreaks, the weight of responsibilities, the choices we regret, they all leave marks. And sometimes we shatter in ways we didn’t expect.

For me, some burdens feel too big to carry; for others, maybe they wouldn’t seem as heavy. Just as what felt messy for me with Tanghulu might not be for someone else, our lives don’t break in the same way. But no matter the size of the struggle, the truth remains: sweetness doesn’t disappear when the shell breaks.

If anything, it becomes easier to taste.

There is sweetness after the shatter — in the small kindnesses that catch us when we fall, in the quiet mornings when we realize we survived what once felt unbearable, in the simple act of choosing ourselves after years of choosing everything else first.

We don’t lose ourselves in the breaking. We find out what we’re really made of.

So maybe life isn’t about staying flawless. Maybe it’s about daring to break, daring to be messy, and still daring to taste the sweetness left behind.

And when I think about it, that’s what living fully really is: not the absence of cracks, but the courage to savor life after them. - MESSY E.

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