Rediscovering Joy in the Simple Things: Lessons from Mei Yi’s Garden

Silence is often misunderstood.

People fear it, rush to fill it, or see it as awkward. But my Aunt Ying, a woman of few words, always embraced it. For her, silence wasn’t a void—it was a space for reflection, understanding, and strength.

As a child, I used to think Aunt Ying was distant or uninterested. At family gatherings, while everyone else exchanged stories, laughed, or debated the latest news, she simply observed. Quietly sipping tea, smiling gently.

I often wondered what was going on in her mind. What was she thinking? What stories was she keeping inside?

One evening, when I was about thirteen, I finally asked her,
“Aunt Ying, don’t you ever feel like saying more?”
She looked at me, smiled knowingly, and said:
“The loudest words don’t come from talking. They come from listening.”

At the time, I didn’t fully understand what she meant. But as I grew older, her words began to unfold their meaning.

While most of us talk to be heard, Aunt Ying chose to listen. And by doing that, she noticed things others missed—the slight change in someone’s tone, the quiet worry in their eyes, the emotions hidden between their words.

Over the years, I started to appreciate silence more deeply. In the quiet, my thoughts became clearer. When I listened more than I spoke, I connected better with others. I realized that silence often reveals truths that noise drowns out.

I remember one particular time when I was stuck with a major life decision. Friends and family gave advice. Everyone meant well—but my mind became cluttered and chaotic. So, I did what Aunt Ying would do.

I found a quiet spot, turned off my phone, and just sat. At first, it felt strange. But slowly, the silence helped me see more clearly. That stillness gave me clarity. In that moment of peace, I finally heard my own voice.

That experience changed me.

Now I understand why Aunt Ying never felt the need to fill silence with words. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone carried calmness and awareness. Her silence was not empty—it was full of meaning.

Today, I carry her wisdom with me. I no longer feel the need to speak just for the sake of speaking. I’ve learned that silence helps us reflect, heal, and grow. It helps us hear others better. It helps us hear ourselves.

And when life feels overwhelming, I remember her lesson. I pause. I breathe. I step into silence—because sometimes, the answers we’re looking for are not found in the noise… but in the quiet moments in between.