Going Full Circle

I have a very nice feeling of closure at the moment. I just built a trellis with a gardening friend, planted heirloom carrots, traded seeds, and both of us felt as though we got the better end of the deal.

And putting these plants into the ground and wondering what miracles of flavour will come up next to the abundant gardens of my Middle Eastern, French, and South Asian garden plot neighbours, I felt as though I was part of something important in the city—a bridge between people, based on our mutual need for food and community.

Being in the garden I can’t help but think of my recent trip to Thailand, Malaysia and Vietnam, though. The Indian, Bangladeshi and Sri Lankan families that have plots next to mine grow okra and bitter gourds aplenty and other South Asian vegetables, and this year I am too. I remember these from my trip and can’t wait to taste their fresh flavours again. I bought a winter melon in a local shop for $5 the other day, and while it was fine, it wasn’t amazing. A flight can really take a lot of the life out of you.

So with planting these vegetables that remind me of Asia, I feel as though I’ve come full circle—I got something out of the trip and I understand where these vegetables come from now. I feel like I can grow them and know enough about them so that they’re not just something cool I stick in the ground to see what happens.

The rest of my life has come full circle though, too. A person I met in Thailand arrives here tomorrow. It’s the most amazing feeling to create any kind of relationship—friendship or romantic—in another place and have that translate to home.  To know that it wasn’t a fleeting, one-off experience. Did we walk through a market together in southern Thailand out of mutual convenience that day, and we’ll never think of each other again? Or if we do, would we ever go out of our way to see each other? There’s comfort in creating a lasting impact, knowing it wasn’t a superficial experience.

The first time I was in a restaurant in Vietnam and ordered a dish of bitter melon, the server questioned my decision. It’s so bitter, she said. I know, I answered, and smiled. Bitter melon and I have a serious relationship. And now it’s part of my cherished memories. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to Vietnam, and if I did I would want to speak the language, but at least I’ll never forget. And at least I can look around my garden neighbours and see the world and understand just a little of their culture, their traditions, and their lives before they were here.

So here’s to coming full circle, to closure, and to a life of meaningful experiences.