I picked up this stone when I was seventeen. It was during a trip to Sa Pa, a mountainous region in northern Vietnam. I don’t remember every detail of that day—just that I was by a quiet stream, walking without much purpose. I spotted a smooth, oval-shaped rock lying near the water’s edge, grey with gentle white stripes running through it. I picked it up. It felt nice in my hand. Heavy, solid, and calm. Its smoothness, I realised, came not from machines but from nature itself—probably polished by stream water over a hundred years or more. I slipped the stone into my pocket and carried it back to UK with me.
When I got home, I showed it to my brother. He looked at it, then at me, and said something that stuck:
“You shouldn’t bring things like that home. What if it carries a spirit? A death soul from the stream?”
I laughed it off at first, but later that night, I found myself thinking about it. I didn’t throw the stone away, though. I just quietly place it into my drawer and left it there.
Life went on. I finished school, started working, built my adult life. The stone stayed put—untouched but always there. I’d come across it from time to time when rummaging through the drawer, but I never held onto it for long.
When I turned thirty, I went through a phase where I started reading about energy and mindfulness. I kept seeing people talk about raw crystals and healing gemstones—how they could help calm the mind, lift the mood, even help you manifest the things you want in life. I didn’t jump in headfirst, but I was intrigued. And for some reason, I thought of the stone again.
I took it out, and just looked at it. After all those years, it still had that same quiet pull. I started holding it more often. I left it on the windowsill during full moons because I’d read about recharging energy that way.
Later, I learned the stone was probably a type of gneiss—formed deep underground through heat and pressure. The stripes were natural, made from minerals like quartz and feldspar layered over time. I liked knowing that. It made the stone feel even older, like it had lived through something.
And now, looking at the stone, admiring its stripes, holding it, and feeling its smooth surface—it brings me joy. There’s something humbling about it. I often think about how the Earth shaped this stone, patiently and quietly, without needing recognition. It reminds me how powerful and precise nature can be.
Do I believe stones and crystals have healing powers? Honestly, yes. But not in a medical sense. I believe in their presence—how they can remind us to slow down, breathe, pay attention. I don’t expect them to fix things. If I ever need medical help, I go to a doctor, no doubt about that.
However, for the quiet moments, when I want to feel centred or set an intention or manifest something good into my day—I’ll hold the stone. It gives me space to reflect and to believe in possibility. Some people might call that a placebo. I call it comfort. Whether it’s truly the stone or just me creating that feeling, I don’t mind. It works.