If life were an opal, the days that don't go as expected might simply be the light shifting to a different angle.
On June 11, 2026, we flew from Hong Kong to Taiwan with our opals.
It had been less than two weeks since we moved into our new store.
Thank you to Elaine, who happened to be able to look after the store for a few days, so that Jason and I could take the brand away from familiar Hong Kong for a while and go somewhere else to see who our jewelry might meet.
Before we left, I thought this would be an ordinary overseas market trip.
I had no idea it would turn into an exercise in "although" and "but."
Although I was already running a fever on the day we set off.
I dragged my heavy body onto the plane, and when we landed in Taiwan, what greeted us wasn't sunshine but several days of rain in a row.
Better still, the market we had signed up for just happened to be outdoors.
But the hotel was thankfully very comfortable, and I could rest properly. By the next day, the fever had quickly gone.
Although a rainstorm hit on the very first day of the market.
The rain was so heavy that our outdoor rain gear was only about 10% effective.
But I actually love rainy days.
And I watched Jason, in the wind and rain, patiently putting up our canopy, not only protecting our jewelry but also helping the stallholders on either side of us with theirs.
In that moment, it struck me that what we had brought to Taiwan might be more than jewelry.
It was also the wish to do things well, even when the conditions weren't ideal.
Although the rain washed away the first day's crowds.
But there were Taiwanese customers who came especially to see us.
We even made some sales!
I also noticed something delightful: people in Taiwan actually wear rain boots to browse a market.
That "I know it's going to rain, but I'm going out anyway" kind of readiness is just too adorable, and a little wild too.
Although on the second day, the organizer suddenly canceled the market.
We also didn't manage to get one of the indoor booths that opened for applications at six in the morning.
The reason was simple: at that hour, I was still asleep.
But a group of overseas and Taiwanese stallholders who refused to let it end that way decided to stay together.
Everyone helped each other, moved their stalls together, and lined them up in a row.
And then, the most incredible thing happened.
The sky cleared.
The day that had been canceled turned out to have the best selling atmosphere of all.
Sunlight fell on the opals, and the blues, greens, oranges, and reds hidden inside the stones flowed with every change of angle, shining all over again.
It suddenly occurred to me that an opal has never been just one color.
Turn the same stone to another angle, and you can see light you couldn't see before.
Perhaps these past few days were the same.
What we took for obstacles, seen from another angle, turned out to be the kindness of fellow travelers, the support of customers, and the strength of a group of strangers getting something done together.
The mood that day was so good that I couldn't resist buying a bag from the Taiwanese bag seller next to us.
Even the vendors in the indoor booths grew envious of those of us who stayed outside.
Although on the last day it began to rain steadily again.
But we finally managed to move into the indoor exhibition hall.
Although sales weren't as good as on that sunny day, in the end the organizer gave us a full refund.
This journey went from fever, rainstorms, and a canceled market to unexpected sunshine, help from strangers, and finally a refund.
Almost nothing went according to the original plan.
Strangely, though, I stayed in a good mood the whole time.
Later I thought that this may be why I love opals so much.
Their beauty doesn't lie in always showing the same perfect color.
It lies in the new surprise they may give you each time the light changes.
We can't decide the weather, how many customers come each day, or whether everything goes smoothly.
But we can decide the angle from which we see it all.
There were a lot of "althoughs."
But there were also a lot of "buts."
And those "buts" were the play-of-color we unexpectedly found on this journey.
It turns out you don't have to wait for the rain to stop for life to shine.
Sometimes, the rain itself is the most beautiful part of the story.