A Lesson in Enough

A Jackfruit Stall in Seremban: A Lesson in Enough

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A quiet morning near Central Lake in Seremban, captured through a single frame—jackfruit, rambutans, and the humble spirit of a local fruit seller. A reflection on simplicity and sustenance.

There’s a kind of honesty that only a fruit stall can offer. Unfiltered. Humble. Alive with the scent of soil and skin and sun.

On a quiet stretch near Seremban’s Central Lake, I came upon this one.

At first glance, it seemed modest—some cut jackfruit laid out neatly, a digital scale waiting patiently for use, a handwritten sign of prices, and a woman slicing through the fibrous husk like she’s done it for decades. To her right, a whole jackfruit rests by her side, like a sentinel of bounty and resistance. The kind of fruit you can smell long before you see it.

There were also rambutans—small, red, hairy delights tossed into a basket—beside reused plastic bags, some pre-packed goods, a roll of cling film. Everything sat under a makeshift canopy. Behind the stall, the dense forest holds its breath, watching. There is no glamour here, but something far more lasting: presence.

I looked again and wondered: could so little sustain a stall?

Is it enough to sell just these few fruits?

In another city, another life, it might not be. But in Seremban, where the rhythms of daily living still echo the heartbeat of the land, perhaps it is.

Perhaps here, enough looks different.

This is not a stall competing with supermarkets or gourmet fruit boutiques. It doesn’t seek to overwhelm. It exists to serve—to nourish its corner of the world with whatever it can offer. And that may be exactly what the people here need.

"He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough." — Laozi, Dao De Jing

In our age of excess, we forget that sustenance isn’t always about abundance. Sometimes it’s about rhythm, routine, relationships. The jackfruit might be shared by a family over several meals. The woman who runs the stall might know her buyers by name, may offer slices to taste, may swap fruit for stories. Commerce, here, is communion.

The presence of the QR code on the table—a strange little artifact amid handwritten notes and cracked plastic bowls—reminds us that even here, in the quiet lanes of Seremban, modernity brushes against tradition. But unlike elsewhere, it hasn’t replaced the old—it simply joins the table. That’s the wisdom of towns like Seremban: they make room for the new, but not at the cost of their soul.

“Photography is the simultaneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event.” — Henri Cartier-Bresson

This photograph, taken in that precise moment, did more than show what was there—it hinted at what was hidden:

The discipline of modesty.

The dignity of work.

The patience of ripening.

The grace of not needing more.

It is easy to romanticize simplicity. But here, it isn’t a pose. It’s practice. You see it in the hands slicing jackfruit. In the rhythm of unpacking crates. In the makeshift signage. In the stall that stands, day after day, because for some, being small is the biggest strength of all.

And so I walked away from the stall that morning not with fruit, but with a quiet respect.

Not for what was sold.

But for what was sustained.