Oh dear, Thailand, that was a long time ago. Just thinking of it feels like running my fingers over silk—smooth, fleeting, unforgettable. It was only a few years after I graduated from university when I found myself on the edge of a bustling floating market in Bangkok. The air was thick with the scent of ripe mangoes, tamarind, and the sharp tang of chili paste simmering on charcoal stoves. In the middle of this symphony of smells, chatter, and laughter, I saw her—a woman whose age seemed timeless, draped in a red-and-gold sarong that shimmered like the Mekong River at sunset.

She was selling jasmine garlands. Her hands moved with such practiced grace, looping the flowers into delicate patterns faster than I could follow. I bought one—not because I needed it, but because there was something magnetic about her presence. Curious, I asked how she could create something so intricate with such ease. She laughed softly and replied in Thai. A kind stranger nearby translated: “Her hands remember what her heart learned long ago.”

That phrase stayed with me, long after I’d left the market and wandered through temples or hopped into rattling tuk-tuks. Years later, it came back to me again, and I realized it wasn’t just about her hands or the garlands. It was about life. I’ve come to believe that we all carry lessons deep in our hearts, waiting for the right moment to resurface and become something beautiful. Sometimes, it’s a fleeting encounter that unlocks them.