I was two or three the first time I tasted durian.

It was just me and my father, sitting together in the soft intimacy of a simple moment in an outdoor market set up in a car park in my hometown of Singapore. He handed me a piece of the strange, spiky fruit - its scent thick in the air, its soft golden flesh unlike anything I’d ever seen (or smelled), and I took a bite. My little face probably wrinkled in confusion.

He asked me what I thought of this fruit he loved so dearly, and that the crowd of people around me was also enthusiastically enjoying.

And I said something to him I’ve never forgotten:

“I don’t really like it... but I can learn to like it.”

Looking back, I see now that toddler-me was already whispering something sacred, about patience, about openness, about not rushing to judgment at face value.

Because that sentence? It was more than just a reaction to fruit. It was the beginning of a lifelong relationship with the path of growth.

We don’t always immediately love the things that will change us. Spiritual growth doesn’t always arrive as sweetness. The teachings, the healing, the initiations - they often come disguised as discomfort, resistance, or an unfamiliar taste.

But if we stay.

If we soften.

If we’re willing to let our bodies catch up with our soul's guidance.

We may just discover that what once felt strange becomes a source of deep nourishment.

Many years later, I heard of a Central American shaman who said that durian was his favourite fruit - and that the spirit of the durian chooses who gets to taste its sweetness. To some, it will always be foul. But to those it selects, it is ambrosia - a fruit of power, pleasure, and initiation.

And maybe that’s how spirit works, too.

Maybe the paths, people, and callings meant for us aren’t always instantly pleasurable. Maybe they test our readiness. Maybe they ask: Are you willing to grow into love? Are you willing to stay present long enough to receive the medicine? Are you willing to become someone who can taste the sweetness beneath the strange?

This is what spiritual growth has taught me - that exquisite beauty often lies beyond the surface of our first reaction.

That our becoming is often a slow unfolding.

And that every hard moment might just be a durian in disguise, waiting for us to lean in, breathe deeper, and whisper: “I don’t love this yet... but I can learn to.”

Last week, I ate durian with my niece in Singapore for the first time.

The last time I was here, she was resolutely against it, detesting it with all her might. But slowly over time (with a bit of patience on her parents' behalf) she began to let herself enjoy it - and eventually she learned to like it. And now, it's one of her favourite things to eat.

Because sometimes the sweetness arrives a little later than we'd prefer.

But it turns out it chose us long before we knew what it was.