Tiny folds, Big feelings

Folding Peace: My Dumpling Journey....

I didn’t grow up eating dumplings. They weren’t a part of my culture or childhood. But somehow, I found myself drawn to them—maybe because they looked like something you make when you want to care slowly.

The first time I made them, I had no idea what I was doing. That was my first time struggling with flaur. A complete disaster. The dough stuck to my fingers. The filling leaked. The folds were crooked. But I kept going—pressing, pinching, tucking softness into softness, like I was trying to hold something broken and make it whole again.

There’s something meditative about making dumplings.

You can’t rush it.

You have to sit with it.

Touch every piece. Fold with intention. Be present.

Sometimes I make them when I need silence. Sometimes when I want to feel useful. Sometimes when I want to remember that I’m capable of making something beautiful with my own hands, even if the world feels messy.

I’ve improved since the first time—my folds are neater, my seasoning better. But the emotion is still the same. Each dumpling feels like a little act of love. And when I eat them, I feel full—not just in my stomach, but somewhere deeper.

This isn’t just about food. It’s about process. Healing. Patience.

It’s about making something soft and warm and gentle—when that’s exactly what I need the most.




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