My Durian Awakening

Curiosity can lead us to experiences we never imagined — and durian was just the beginning of my adventure.

Image made with KLING AI

When was the last time you judged something, or someone, at first glance?

When was the last time you dared to give it a shot?

For me, it was durian, a gamble between life-changing delight and instant regret.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m sorry to burst your bubble—the durian is not a hot, broody, morally grey dragon shifter. It’s a Southeast Asian fruit I didn’t even know existed until December 27th 2024.

I was in Singapore with Ambuj and his uncles, the first stop of our Southeast Asia trip, strolling down Chinatown—the cleanest and least chaotic Chinatown I’ve ever seen. Ambuj’s aunt, whom we call Mamiji, hyped it up so much that we made it the first stop on today’s Singapore tour.

While walking, my attention was drawn to a street vendor’s stall crowned by a mountain of enormous, spiky green orbs. No1 Durian Champion, Musang King, a cardboard sign read. Now, tell me if “Durian” or “Musang King” are not captivating names—worthy of a dragon shifter’s character. I was hooked. Whatever that was, I had to taste it.

Tourists around me quickened their pace, taking a longer route to avoid the stall like the plague. Why? I noticed the rest of my group staying back, creating a cautious distance between themselves and the vendor.

But not me.

I kept staring, curiosity pulling me toward this mysterious fruit. Each orb was larger than my head; its shell an impenetrable fortress that almost hurt my hand to touch, up to 7 kilograms (14 pounds) of danger.

Why does nature protect it so fiercely? Think of a peach or a plum—no shell, just soft, easily breakable skin. What creatures once roamed nearby, prompting the durian to grow an armor fit for battle? What role did it play in nature’s circle of life?

And then, in the middle of these life-altering questions, the smell hit me—pungent, almost repulsive.

“Yuck, that’s durian!” a young tourist groaned, turning around in the opposite direction.

“Stay away!” Ambuj yelled like I was walking into danger.

“No, don’t!” Mamiji grabbed my arm, alarmed.

Suddenly, it all made sense, the reason why tourists were keeping their distance. The smell alone was enough to judge it. I guess first impressions extend to fruits too.

Maybe the hard shell wasn’t just physical armor; maybe it was there to shield the durian from the hurt of not being wanted or accepted.

As if judgment could never pierce a thick shell.

But not me.

The intense odor wasn’t enough to drive away my curiosity.

How rare is it to stumble across something completely unfamiliar, something you’ve never seen, tasted, or even heard of? In a world where everything is available everywhere, all the time, where seasonality is irrelevant, discovering something entirely new felt like uncovering a hidden treasure. Especially something nature-made, untouched by human hands.

“One,” I said, pointing at the plastic-wrapped boxes of yellowish pulp on the stand, completely ignoring the warning glances from those around me.

The vendor, wielding a butcher’s axe, gave me a skeptical look. “First time trying durian?”

“Yes,” I replied, grinning like a kid about to open a mystery box.

“In Southeast Asia, it’s considered a symbol of abundance,” he said, smiling as he scanned the containers. “Here in Singapore, we even have a building inspired by it, the Esplanade. It has a spiky dome, like the durian!”

He picked a container with slightly yellower pulp and handed it to me. “Take the Musang King, it’s a sweeter variety of durian”

I nodded, handing him 8 Singaporean dollars (about $6 USD), and claimed my prize.

I grabbed a disposable plastic glove from the small table where I had convinced our group to sit, threatening to go alone if they refused, ready to taste this royal fruit.

Mamiji decided to join me, slipping on a glove herself. If I was going down, she was coming with me.

“I’ve been in Singapore for 12 years, and I’ve never tried durian,” she laughed, like a kid caught stealing candy from a jar.

Everyone’s expressions were a mix of intrigue and disgust as my right finger plunged into the durian’s soft, creamy consistency.

The pulp parted easily under my touch, leaving traces of yellow residue on the disposable plastic glove. A warm sensation spread through me, my lips parting instinctively as I prepared to taste the “Musang King.”

The texture was unlike anything I’d ever experienced—soft and warm, like an overripe avocado. There was no need to bite; my lips and tongue did all the work.

The taste was a surprising blend of mango, roasted pumpkin, and avocado. An approving “Mmm” escaped me as I focused on the flavor, ignoring the pungent odor still clinging to my nose. It felt like an overly intimate experience to have with a fruit.

“Not bad,” I heard Mamiji say. “I can’t believe you made me try it!”

When the warmth of the pulp hit my stomach, an immediate signal of what was to come made me doubt if I should take another mouthful, the fiber already at work.

But I am a sinful creature, and I couldn’t resist a second bite. Then another. I sucked the pulp off the seed, revealing its smooth, date-like brown surface until I had four sparkling clean seeds in front of me.

I leaned back in my chair, a bead of sweat sliding down my temple, my stomach protesting with unmistakable warnings—paying the price of my greed. And yet, I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face.

My world had expanded by giving something new a chance, a delicacy so many would never taste because of preconceived judgment, dismissed as unworthy of going beyond the smell or the hard shell.

Durian is an experience, a fruit you either love or hate, like anything bold enough to be unapologetically unique, pushing boundaries.

I glanced at the now-empty plastic container and knew in my heart that the durian had left its mark on me, branded me.

“Ready to go? The Esplanade is waiting.” Mamiji’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I nodded, standing and taking one last look at the vendor’s stall, smiling. In another life, perhaps the “Musang King” would be a hard-to-get dragon shifter—and maybe he would give me a chance, too.

But for now, it remains one of the most unique tastes I’ll remember long after this trip.

Till the next bite,

Simona