I first got to know her daughter.
Before I ever met her, I had only heard little pieces about her through her daughter: she had traveled far and wide, moved through different countries and places, always full of energy, always on the go.
Then I finally met her in person. To my surprise, she was not intimidating at all. She was warm, sweet-spoken, and wonderfully down-to-earth.
When she talks about the places she has been, there is something open and sweeping in the way she remembers them, as if she has crossed mountains and oceans with the wind. But when she sits across from me and talks, she is gentle, soft, and naturally kind. I would ask her which place was the most beautiful, or which country left the deepest impression on her, and she would take her time telling me: the landscapes of New Zealand, the little moments from her travels, and even a playful video of herself pretending to "eat" the Chongqing light rail.
She is also an incredible cook.
Chive pancakes, braised fish, beef huoshao flatbreads... everything she makes has that honest, comforting kind of aroma. I used to believe I couldn't cook well because my kitchen didn't have enough seasonings. Then one day, she brought a fresh fish to my house, and within minutes turned it into a delicious braised fish.
I asked her, "Did you bring the seasonings too?"
She said, "No, I just used what you had at home."
So there it was. Some people can effortlessly turn the ordinary into magic.
As for me, I am apparently responsible for turning magic back into the ordinary.
We often drop by her home with very little warning, yet somehow she can always put together a table full of food in no time. Before long, we are sitting there, eating, laughing, and being fed until we are completely content.
She is also incredibly good with her hands.
The little crocheted creations she makes became an instant hit in our community. Everyone wanted to reserve one, as if being a step late meant missing out forever. I once thought about asking her to teach me. After all, how wonderful would it be to make something that cute myself?
Then I watched a few crochet tutorial videos.
That was when I realized this was not simply "cute" work. Every stitch takes focus. Your eyes have to stay with the yarn. Your hands need patience. Your heart needs patience too.
I immediately calmed down and quietly gave up on the idea of becoming her student.
Since then, I have looked at her crocheted little Mi-zi with even more respect. They are not just sweet little handmade pieces. They carry the time, care, and tenderness she has worked into them, stitch by stitch.
She has seen the world, yet she still takes such good care of the people right in front of her.
In our small community, she is someone who brings warmth wherever she goes. She can tell stories from faraway places, and she can also make a kitchen feel alive. She has seen the world, yet she still takes such good care of the people right in front of her. She can turn a ball of yarn into something everyone wants to hold close. She can turn an ordinary evening into a table full of food, laughter, and belonging.
Soon, she will be going back to China.
After this goodbye, we do not know when we will see each other again. Thinking about that makes my heart feel a little empty. But I also feel that some people never truly leave, even when they are far away.
What she leaves with us is not only the memory of a few wonderful meals, a few adorable crocheted Mi-zi, or a few stories from distant places. What she leaves is a very real kind of warmth: the smell of food when the door opens, the laughter that begins once everyone sits down, and the way she casually said, "I just used what you had at home."
May her journey be safe and smooth. May she keep seeing beautiful places, meeting good people, and living her days with warmth and abundance.
And we will remember that, during her days in Vancouver, there was once a sweet-spoken woman who brought us stories from the world, filled our table with food, and made ordinary moments feel like home.