Let's do it again

"Just a simple lunch with lettuce wraps," she said. But it turned out to be one of the most thoughtful, elaborate meals I’ve ever had. I had no idea there were so many different types of wraps we could eat! She said they were all freshly picked from the garden. Sitting at the table on a patch of green grass, it felt like dining in a cozy backyard farm—it was a joy.

It was during Chuseok (Korean harvest festival) when a friend brought homemade food to another friend’s house, and we all shared lunch together. It was one of those meals where your stomach feels full too soon, and you start to resent it—because you want to keep eating. Not just the wraps: there was freshly made kimchi, kale doenjang soup, and so many other dishes I can’t even remember them all. The food I couldn’t finish still lingers in my mind, and I find myself swallowing back a little drool just thinking about it.

My friend didn’t just prepare the food—she also brought the exact number of plates and utensils for everyone so as not to trouble the host. While we laughed and enjoyed the meal, she quietly prepared dessert, pickled leftover veggies in soy sauce, did the dishes, and even tidied up afterwards.

She later said,
“Making the food wasn’t hard. Washing all those greens was.”
Hearing that, I couldn’t help but wonder—doesn’t it take someone with a truly enlightened heart to put so much effort and care into something most people wouldn’t even think to do? Just standing in front of her makes me lower my head in humility. I’m embarrassed by my own lack of thoughtfulness in comparison.

When you’re too thankful, you start to feel guilty. And when you feel guilty, you become speechless. I couldn’t even say thank you—I just quietly drifted into old memories.

I used to work on the PTA when my kids were young. There was always a lot to do for school events, and even more behind-the-scenes tasks. We’d bring what we thought we needed, but inevitably, someone would forget something and it would slow down our work. I always thought, “Why not just borrow things from the teacher’s office?” But one of the moms insisted that we not inconvenience the school staff—they were working for our kids too. She’d go out to the nearest stationery store and buy what we needed.

That moment taught me a lasting lesson: When you come unprepared and rely on others for convenience, you’re only making things harder for them.

“Come again sometime,” said the host, waving us off with a sweet accent that made us burst into laughter inside the elevator. It was a joyful outing, like a picnic wrapped in fresh greens, filled with friendly chatter and warm-hearted people.

I’d love to “come again.”

But I feel so grateful—and a little guilty too. Maybe now, it’s my turn.