A reflection on the human machinery of knowledge, the intuition that questions it, and the diverse landscapes of knowing it often ignores.
In fourth grade, a girl newly arrived from Hong Kong taught me origami. She didn’t use words I fully understood, but her hands spoke a clear, folding language. We made cranes from stolen memo paper, a quiet conspiracy of creation in the back of the classroom. That was my first conscious lesson in a profound truth: there are ways of knowing that live outside of official textbooks, transmitted through gesture, patience, and shared focus. Years later, when I would explore wellness practices from cultures not my own, I would remember that feeling—a legitimacy that needs no external stamp.