I had a classmate in primary school who came from a single-parent family. After school, she always had endless housework waiting for her.

I loved going to her place. Not to help, but to sit beside her watching her work while doing my homework.  The space was small and ordinary, yet it carried a strange sense of calm.

What fascinated me most was watching her fill the thermos.

She would place the large vacuum flask in the center of the room, lift a kettle of freshly boiled water, and pour from a surprisingly high distance into the tiny opening.

The opening was so small, yet she controlled the force and direction perfectly no splashing, no hesitation, no rush.

Even more incredible was this: she always slowed down at exactly the right moment, stopping just as the water reached the brim.

One day, I asked her, “How do you know it’s almost full?”

She replied calmly, with a sentence I’ve never forgotten: “You can hear where the water is. You don’t need to look.”

In that instant, something inside me opened.

I realized that senses aren’t separate. That the world doesn’t rely on vision alone.

Some people are severely nearsighted but hear with incredible precision.  Some people see colors when they hear words. Some people understand direction better with their eyes closed.

From that day on, I couldn’t stop listening to water.

I listened to raw water and boiled water, spring water and ocean waves, rain falling on different surfaces.

If you’re willing to be still, water never sounds the same twice.

Later, I understood this wasn’t a special talent.  It was a sensory channel we’re rarely allowed to open.

We’re taught to “see clearly” and “think things through,” but rarely told that the world can also be heard, felt, and gently dismantled.

Any small thing around you, if you slow down enough, can lead you into another way of understanding.

What she taught me that day was not just how to fill a thermos,  but this: The world has always been speaking to us in many voices.

We just learned to answer with our eyes alone.



—— XC Scribbles · 玖拾柒 XCVII 💧