My aunt had a garden across the street from our home, and it was full of rambutan trees. Rambutans are my favorite fruit. Even when they’re sour, I love them. I would bring them home from the orchard for my mother to make rambutan jam. First, we peeled the fruits, boiled them, and shredded the flesh using a metal grater. We put all that flesh into a copper pot, stirring and simmering with sugar until thick. Usually, rambutans have red, hairy skins. But our neighbor had a different variety with green skins. With my brother Guan and cousin Kim, we would go next door in the evenings to pluck them from the neighbor’s trees. We would take a long pole with a hook at the end and use that to yank the fruits from the tall branches. I was in primary school then, around eight-years-old. My job was to sit on the stone wall separating our lots and be on the lookout for anyone coming, while Guan and Kim crouched quietly on the grass waiting for my signal before approaching the trees. And, of course, I had a share in the eating. Rambutans always taste better when you steal them.