Every Sunday at the farmer’s market, I would buy prized produce from Javed - rambutan, mataburo, the sweetest mandarins, and so many other favorites. Short encounters where I'd marvel and express gratitude for some of those rarities he'd sometimes supply.
We didn’t have a friendship beyond those brief exchanges, yet I felt like I knew him—not through words, but through presence.
His energy, his calm, his thoughtfulness—there was a quiet purity about him, something rare and unspoken. Though he was a grown man, there was an innocence in him, something gentle and childlike, that touched my heart in ways I struggle to understand, much less explain.
This morning, passing by his stall was difficult. Seeing his mother there, not knowing what to say, knowing that if I felt such a hole in my chest, I could never even dream of understanding the depth of her and her family's loss.
His absence will be deeply felt, not just in the space he occupied at the market, but in the quiet way his spirit left an imprint on those around him. What a blessing to have have even those short encounters with Javed, and to have felt the connection of his spirit .
May he rest in peace and in the best parts of the memories of all who ever had the privilege of meeting him.