Ingrid ZH | Fangruo’s Cereal — Writing, Food, Travel & Coaching

I’m in a place called Bangor, and I’ll be heading to Canada soon.

On this trip, I’ve unexpectedly run into many friends along the way.

When I left early last Saturday morning, I was thinking about getting back to Connecticut as fast as possible. Kevin was ready about an hour later than I’d expected. I surprised myself — I didn’t seem to be angry.

It just suddenly hit me: maybe I don’t have to be angry.

That’s actually something I’ve always found difficult. Go me.

Passing through New Jersey, I noticed a place called Edison on the signs. Edison is a small town near Princeton. A friend once took me to a Sichuan restaurant there, and ever since, every time I pass through New Jersey I stop to eat there. The owner has a remarkable memory — I might only go once or twice a year, but he knows where I’ve been traveling lately, and he knows that Kevin’s Chinese has improved.

Before reaching New Jersey, I started randomly calling friends who live there, and ended up seeing an old friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. She picked up the phone while still in the middle of a meal, but she put down her chopsticks and came to have another meal with us. I was really moved by that.

My body, mind, and muscles have all been changing quite a bit.

The friend who teaches me to dance has Kevin and me listen to music every day and practice counting beats, moving our bodies in rhythm. Even while driving, I move my wrists along with the music.

Before leaving Kevin’s family’s house, the two of us helped his mom tend to her butterfly garden. Kevin’s dad takes care of the vegetable patch — peppers, tomatoes, peas, and so on. His mom loves butterflies, so she plants lots of flowers. She’d bought several bags of rich soil from Home Depot. Kevin and I were in charge of spreading the soil across the garden beds and then scattering the seeds. We went back home last May too, and the seeds we scattered last year have already bloomed this year.

I am sowing this year’s seeds. Seeds are such light things — they fall from my palm, and I barely notice the moment they leave.

Sowing seeds is like making a wish. It is a very light thing.

After leaving Kevin’s house, I went to the home of B, my former boss from the fried dumpling company. B and I are friends across generations. He loves motorcycles — at twenty-five, he rode one across the entire country. I wonder if the reason we became friends is that I drove across the whole country at around that same age. B turned seventy this year, and he’s still planning to ride around Ireland.

We had originally invited B and his wife to our wedding, but they couldn’t make it, so they specially invited us to their home instead. They brought out beautiful glasses with intricate patterns — bubble wine glasses — and poured a little pink sparkling water into them. They had also prepared a strawberry cream cake for us. B’s wife L hand-drew a card for me, decorated with illustrations of cars, pine trees, and food. The card read: Congratulations to Ingrid and Kevin on your marriage, love is the greatest adventure.

And so, I will drive on northward.

Neither of them had ever met Kevin. L asked me how I knew Kevin was the one to marry.

I told her I’d simply discovered that I had seen him many times before, in my dreams.

B and L became grandparents for the second time this year. L and I counted on our fingers and worked out that this newborn grandson is a Pisces. B looked on with a helpless expression, as if to say: L has finally found someone to chat about these things with.

After leaving Connecticut, I said goodbye to B’s family and to Kevin, and started driving toward Maine. I had originally planned to arrive by nine in the evening.

Halfway there, I thought — why not stop in Boston? So I detoured into the city and had a meal with a friend. I finally reached Maine at eleven-thirty. I used to get quite anxious whenever I got distracted and my plans fell apart.

But I suddenly realized —

actually, I don’t have to be angry about plans felling apart.