My sister asked, “What time is it?” her gaze fixed on the guava tree beside our gate. The yellow hue of sunlight filtered through its leaves, casting a warm glow over the yard. The sun hung high above us, bathing everything in a golden brightness.

“I’m not wearing a watch,” I replied, watching her. She was my elder sister, my constant guardian and partner in crime, always protecting me despite my many antics. Whether it was my silly dances or my constant pestering, she never stopped caring, even when I drove her to frustration.

“The tree’s grown so big,” she said thoughtfully. Her words pulled my attention to the guava tree, a silent witness to our childhood. It stood tall and proud now, yet it carried the marks of time, just as we did. Its presence reminded me of simpler days, of laughter and tears, and of countless moments that shaped us.

“Do you remember how thin it used to be?” I asked. She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.

Years ago, the guava tree had been small and fragile, its trunk slender and its branches swaying with the gentlest breeze. Yet, despite its fragility, it produced more fruit than anyone anticipated. Its slender branches, filled with guavas, drooped heavily under their weight. I remember worrying that it might break. Whenever I saw the branches drooping, I’d rush to our father, filled with concern. He’d listen patiently before repeating a couple of lines from poetry by Lekhnath Poudel, which we had learned in school:

‘Upakari Guni Byakti Nihurincha Nirantar. Faleko Brikshako Hango Najhukeko Kaha Cha Ra,’ which roughly translates to, ‘A benevolent and virtuous person always bows humbly. Is there a fruit-laden tree whose branches do not bend?’

The wisdom in those words stayed with me. The tree’s generosity, much like its resilience, never wavered. It bore fruit season after season, giving far more than it could. Over time, the guavas became my favourite fruit not just because they were delicious, but because of my connection to this tree.

After school, my sister and I would sit beneath its shade. The sunlight streaming through its leaves created golden patterns on the ground, and the soft rustling of the branches filled the air with a soothing melody. We’d pluck guavas straight from the tree, often before they were fully ripe. The crisp sound of biting into them echoed in the quiet yard, and the slight tartness was something we had grown to love.

The guava tree became more than just a source of fruit. It became a part of our lives. Under its shade, we shared stories, fought over minor issues, and dreamed about futures we couldn’t yet imagine. The tree stood as a silent observer, holding space for us during those fleeting, formative moments.

As the years went by, everything around the tree changed. The gate was repainted, the walls of our house cracked and were mended, and we grew taller and older. But the tree remained constant. Its roots stayed firmly planted, its branches still heavy with fruit. It carried the weight of our memories just as it carried its guavas, year after year.

Yet, as it grew, there were times when I feared for its survival. I vividly remember arguing with my father one summer when he decided to trim its branches.

“No, Baba, please! What if it doesn’t survive? What if it stops giving us guavas?” I argued as I watched him holding the shears. He reassured me with his calm, steady voice. “Trimming the branches helps the tree grow stronger,” he said. “It won’t hurt; it’ll thrive.”

At the time, I didn’t understand. To me, cutting away parts of the tree felt like a betrayal. It had given us so much: its shade, its fruit, its quiet presence. How could we repay that by cutting it? But as the seasons passed, I saw my father was right. The tree grew back even fuller, its branches reaching higher, its fruit richer.

That experience taught me something important. Growth often requires letting go of parts of the past, even when it feels painful or uncertain. It’s a lesson I carry with me to this day, though I still feel a pang of hesitation every time I see my father with the shears.

Now, as I sit beneath the tree with my mother, I’m reminded of those early days. Even now, I find myself pointing at specific guavas, just as I did as a child, asking her to pick them for me. The winter sun filters through the branches, casting a soft glow over us. Her laughter rings out, warm and full of life, and it fills me with a deep sense of comfort.

My mother’s love has always been steady, like the roots of the tree that anchor it to the ground. Her energy was the foundation of our home, nurturing and unwavering. She taught us to embrace the world with open hearts, to love fiercely, even when it felt risky. Her warmth was a constant, much like the sun filtering through the branches.

But I also see my father’s influence in the tree. His strength and confidence are mirrored in its tall, sturdy trunk and the way its branches stretch outward, unyielding and bold. Where my mother’s love was gentle and reassuring, my father’s presence was assertive and strong. Together, they created a balance that shaped me into who I am today, someone who could weather life’s storms, just as the tree has endured.

As I reflect on the tree, I realise that it represents more than just our family’s history. It symbolises the process of growth itself: the necessity of change, the courage to let go, and the resilience to keep going. Life, like the tree, is filled with moments of uncertainty and transformation. It’s about trusting that even in the face of loss, new growth will emerge.

The guava tree has been our family’s silent companion, our strength, and our constant. It has witnessed our laughter, our struggles, and our triumphs. Its branches, once delicate and thin, now stretch wide, bearing fruits that grow heavier with each passing season. And just like us, it has weathered storms and sunshine alike, standing firm through it all.

In the evenings, we’d watch the branches sway gently in the breeze, as though the tree itself was alive, full of stories to share. Birds perched on its branches, insects buzzed around its flowers, and life thrived beneath its shade. The tree wasn’t just part of our yard but a part of us.

As I sit here now, I can’t help but feel grateful for the lessons it has taught me. It has shown me the importance of resilience, the beauty of generosity, and the value of letting go. Like the tree, we’ve grown stronger with each passing season, learning to trust in change and finding strength in one another.

The guava tree is more than a tree. It is a reflection of our family, our home, and the love that binds us together. It stands as a testament to the power of growth and the enduring strength of roots that run deep.