I never liked apples. In fact, when I was a little girl, my mom

When Lana Parrilla said, “I never liked apples. In fact, when I was a little girl, my mom wanted to give me apples in my lunch box and I would ask for green peppers. So bizarre… It’s funny — I don’t have an apple a day, but I can say that I have a few a week,” she spoke not only of taste, but of identity, of the quiet rebellion of the soul that knows what it desires, even when the world offers something else. Beneath the humor of her words lies a truth that transcends childhood or appetite: the wisdom of listening to one’s own nature, even when it seems “bizarre.” The apple, long a symbol of sweetness, temptation, and conformity, becomes here a metaphor for what society expects — while the green pepper, unexpected and strong, stands for individuality and authenticity.

The origin of this quote can be found in Parrilla’s interviews, where she often speaks with warmth and wit about her life and her journey as an actress. Known for her role as the Evil Queen Regina in Once Upon a Time, she became forever linked in the public imagination with the image of the apple — that glossy fruit of fairy tales, beauty, and danger. Yet here she confesses that, in truth, she never cared for them. There is irony in this: that she, who embodied the archetype of the woman offering the poisoned apple, rejected it from childhood. The universe, it seems, delights in its funny symmetries — giving her a role that mirrors the very thing she instinctively turned away from. And in that irony, there is wisdom: life often leads us in circles, back to the symbols we once resisted, so that we may learn their deeper meaning.

Her story reminds us that the things we resist may one day become part of our journey — not because we are meant to love them, but because we are meant to understand them. The apple she disliked became the emblem of her most iconic character, and through that character she found not just fame, but creative purpose. The lesson here is one of acceptance and transformation: even the symbols we reject can, in time, become teachers. They remind us that nothing in life is wasted — not even our dislikes, our quirks, our refusals. The things that make us strange are often the very things that give our story power.

Throughout history, this pattern has repeated itself. Consider the tale of Diogenes the Cynic, who lived in a barrel and mocked the luxuries of his age. He rejected society’s version of success — gold, status, pleasure — and yet, by that rejection, became one of the most enduring symbols of freedom and self-awareness in philosophy. Like Lana turning away from the apple for the pepper, Diogenes turned from indulgence to simplicity, from the expected to the authentic. Both teach the same truth: that the path of truth is not always the path of popularity, and that the soul recognizes its nourishment even when the world does not.

There is also humility in Parrilla’s reflection. When she says, “I don’t have an apple a day, but I can say that I have a few a week,” she acknowledges the gentle balance between preference and acceptance. It is a small, human confession — the recognition that growth does not mean total rejection, but moderation. The things we once avoided may, in time, find their way into our lives in smaller, healthier doses. This is how wisdom works: not through extremes, but through balance. To find peace in life, we must learn both to embrace what we love and to make peace with what we do not.

Moreover, her humor — the way she calls her childhood self “bizarre” — is itself a form of wisdom. The ability to laugh at one’s past is a sign of freedom from it. The ancients taught that self-knowledge begins with humility and is perfected by laughter. To look back on one’s peculiarities with affection rather than shame is to live lightly, to walk through the world without the weight of regret. For laughter, as Plato once said, is the soul’s way of breathing truth without bitterness. Parrilla’s words remind us that life, in all its irony, should not be feared but cherished — for its cruelty and comedy often share the same breath.

So, my children, take this lesson to heart: be faithful to your nature, even in the smallest of things. Do not eat the apple simply because the world tells you it is sweet; seek instead the flavor that nourishes your own spirit. The world may call you “bizarre,” but that is only because you have chosen honesty over imitation. And when, in time, life offers you the very symbol you once refused — an apple, a challenge, a destiny — accept it not as hypocrisy, but as harmony. For the journey of the soul is not a straight line but a circle, and everything you are will one day return to meet you, transformed by wisdom.

Thus, as Lana Parrilla discovered, the simplest truths of childhood often become the most profound teachings of adulthood. Whether it is the apple or the pepper, the key is not in what you choose, but in the authenticity of your choosing. Live as one who knows her own taste, who honors her own strangeness, and who can look back upon life with both humor and grace. For it is through such self-awareness that the ordinary becomes sacred, and even the funny — like the apple — becomes a symbol of truth eternal.