A tangerine is said to be a type of mandarin, I've heard, but only to an extent. A clementine is said to be another type of mandarin, I've heard, but to a certain degree. At sight, one may not be able to tell them apart. They are both simply put: orange fruit. So one might ask who cares?

In the end, they would both be eaten regardless.

Regardless of who we think we are, so will be the case when death comes.

In the beginning, both of the mandarins were both simply fruit. Fruit, as such, they merely hung from a tree, during a time, when, I bet, not even the mandarins knew what they were to become. They did not know whether they were part of a clementine tree. They did not know whether they were a tangerine. But they did not need to know, for they lived through the tree.

What a time was theirs! 

The mandarin, regardless of what it were, became a part of something bigger. When the wind came, thousands of leaves trembled in front of the eyes of the mandarin, as the mandarin solely stayed put. It wasn't until they were picked that they became aware. It wasn't until the markets that they saw that they were different. Packed closely together, they became aware and started asking,

"What am I?"

"What is to become of me?"

More or less like people, they were no longer sweet fruit, they were no longer innocent, they were no longer the forbidden fruit society talked about. They were ripe for the taking. They were ripe for the world's wickedness to consume.

And so the tangerine decayed over time and so did the clementine. Although they were both picked and finally eaten, they didn't not realize that they had both decayed internally. They did not realize that it was not their size that distinguished them. They did not realize that it was their inner identity that truly defined them. Because while the tangerine had seeds, the clementine never realized it had none. And it was in this state of ignorance, that both fruit decayed in the bellies of their consumer.