On the Kindness of Strangers

This is the second time this happens to me. In a previous post,p from May 10th, titled: "Museum Piece: The First Cuca's Things," which it should be renamed, "Vous etes ravissante!" the best piropo I heard in my life, I already talked about this, superficially. About what I call the kindness of strangers.

In that post I told a similar story in which an act of kindness, of uninterested generosity from a total stranger, changed my face effectively and without need of drugs for the rest of the day. And now, after that it happened again, I discover a pattern and form a theory. It sounds very scientific, eh? Well, it's not. I realized that the two times in which this act of kindness has happened, in 1995 and now, I was having one of those days where my emotional state could be classified as vulnerable, or perhaps, low, basement level... or just plain shitty.

I am having stomach problems, and I don't sleep well. Last night it was awful. I didn't sleep much. I had to teach in the morning but I stayed in bed longer than usual because I wanted to win my tiredness off. At noon I didn't t go swimming, I was still feeling bad, weak, but I decided to go to Food 4 Less to buy some stuff I needed for my stomach pain. I was dressed in orange, with an orange blouse and orange matching sweater that my mother gave me years ago. I was cold, even though outside it was sunny. I arrive at F4L, park, and on my way to the shopping carts a man that passes by, a man on a yellow shirt, says, "You look very good on that orange." Thanks! I reply. The fact that, even with my gloom and bad mood and feeling like shit, this man tells me that I look good, it's something to celebrate and be thankful for!

I always said that I am a very sensitive person, like a sponge. I absorb everything that's floating around me, and I think, well, I guess there is other people like me, very sensitive, I wouldn't think I am the only one, right? And maybe when I am on one of those low mood days, navigating the dangerous waters of depression, I send screams of help! to the air, which is already overwhelmed with other pollutions as to also having tolerate my humors and mood states, and they catch on it. I think they are out there, these people, like the piropo guy in París, and this gentle observer in Pasadena, and... wait! There is another one: the cashier lady at F4L. This is the second time that this exact same thing happens with a cashier of F4L. I get to the cash register, I'm going to pay, and she says: You have very pretty eyes. Oh! Thanks! And then I think, maybe they notice that I am vulnerable, that I need a little push, a little encouragement, and there they come, to rescue me, without they even knowing.

Anyway, celebrating small, every-day happiness.