The Frog Earring

"It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question." — Eugène Ionesco

They began not with answers, but with questions — a stream of them, clear and curious, like ripples spreading across still water.

“What is stress?” one asked. “How do you define it? What kind of stress? And what do you mean by learning in life — a skill, or a way of thinking?”

We were sitting on a bench in Holland Park, where late-summer light slipped through the trees. Children ran past chasing pigeons, and somewhere behind us a busker’s tune drifted through the air. But their focus never left me. The world moved, and they stayed still — eyes bright, leaning forward, searching for understanding.

They looked like students — two friends, perhaps from Korea or China. Their laughter was soft, their questions deliberate. They didn’t answer quickly. They wanted to get it right — not for me, but for truth itself. It was rare to see such curiosity worn so openly, like light on the face.

One of them wore the most unusual earring I’d ever seen — a small silver frog, as if mid-leap from her ear. When I mentioned it, she laughed, her voice breaking the stillness. “Oh,” she said playfully, “I buy earrings to get rid of my stress.” Her friend’s laughter followed, light and free, like wind through leaves.

But her joke lingered with me. It was an insight disguised as humour — the human urge to find comfort in small rituals. Psychologists call it symbolic control: when life feels chaotic, we hold onto tiny choices — objects, colours, charms — anything that reminds us we still have power over something. A bit of beauty becomes a shield against the noise.

When I asked about kindness, she thought for a while. “I try to understand what caused someone’s pain,” she said slowly. “If I feel connected to it, helping them helps me too. It’s like fixing a small part of what’s broken.” Her friend nodded, adding softly, “I think when we do that, we stop feeling alone.” They also told me they give money to help stray animals — that doing something real, even small, brings calm. It wasn’t pity; it was empathy translated into motion. Their kindness was quiet, practical — the kind that doesn’t seek praise.

Then they asked me a question that turned everything: “Whose answer has been most interesting for you?”

I laughed — no one had ever asked me that. And somehow, their curiosity pulled me in too. I found myself talking about others I’d met, about stories of coping and kindness, about how people heal. They listened attentively.

When we finally stood to leave, the frog earring caught the sunlight again. It gleamed for a moment — a small, bright symbol of joy disguised as decoration. They walked away through the trees, still talking, still questioning. And I thought how rare it is to meet people who listen like that — not to respond, but to understand.

Sometimes wisdom doesn’t come from having the answers.Sometimes it begins with two friends on a park bench, asking the right questions.