The Red Thread That Led Me Back to Myself
The Japanese culture will never cease to mesmerize me. Everything is interpreted in such a deep, intentional way, as if life itself is infused with quiet meaning. Even the simplest things feel sacred. Almost magical. One of the concepts that has always stayed with me is the legend of the red thread of fate, an invisible thread that connects those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. It may stretch or tangle, but it never breaks. I didn’t know it then, but on a quiet spring morning in one of my favorite cafés in Montreal, I was about to encounter mine. A Café, a Stranger, and a Word The air inside Café Olimpico was thick with the hum of early spring, a mixture of espresso steam, the promise of warmer weather, and soft conversations drifting in French and English. It was that in-between season in Montreal, where the snow had melted but the trees hadn’t yet bloomed. A moment suspended in transition. I was sitting by the front window, latte in hand, laptop o...