It’s a hot, summer day and the last place that I wanted to be was in a stuffy fourth grade classroom. The surge of mosquitoes every night made it impossible to sleep, and my restless mind and tired body were not ready for the day. After a grueling first half filled with classes, my class had gotten the chance to go to the field for a free period to play. Normally I loved playing sports, no matter which one it was. On that day though, things were just not working for me.

I started off by reaching school having worn the wrong uniform because of a all too fortunistic confusion, which also meant that I was the only one wearing the black, formal leather strap on shoes, whereas everyone else had on their Friday white sport shoes. The sport of my choice was volleyball for the day, which I should have known to stay away from given how my fate for the day had been plummeting. I won’t get into the details, though I didn’t end up tearing the sleeve of my shirt and luckily only slightly ripping off the leather strap off of my shoe.

I came back to class only to find out that I had no more water left, and no one was willing to share because everyone was thirsty after coming back to class. Turns out I had forgotten to bring the stationary required for the current class, which included maps and crayons. By this point, I was already so overwhelmed and I couldn’t deal with the fact I would be in trouble. My teacher had made me stand up and shamed me for forgetting. She even asked me to take out my school diary and show the entire class where she had made everyone take the note for the map down. But I digress.

It was this point where a fellow classmate of mine stepped up and volunteered to share his crayons, and even offered the extra maps that his sister had made sure his clumsy ass carried. This moment apparently impacted me so deeply at that tender age, the sensitivity of that boy to notice my distress and come up with a solution that put him at a notable disadvantage truly melted my heart. It is embarrassing to say that it impacted me so deeply that I even had a childish dream about him flying in on a plane later that night, which led me to believe that I had feelings for him as I had never experienced anything like this before.

The power of kindness can be so impactful. One small moment of heartfelt generosity can made such a world of a difference. There’s times where it’s hard to remember to be kind, to be soft, to be nurturing, to be vulnerable. Those are times that we’re hurting ourselves, and there’s some healing that we need before we can actually be of service to others. That’s when we need to see that it’s not selfish to ask for help either, knowing that you can return the favor, or get better enough to be of help yourself.

It’s been over 12 years now since this incident but I still remember it so clearly. Initially it made me value kindness so much, over the years it did begin to enrage me that such kindness really isn’t all that common, but I’ve also gradually learned that such kindness is only to be grateful for, and spread as much as possible.

Even now, the relationship that I look upto the most is my grandparents, and what they share. They make it a point to be kind to one another, no matter what the situation or how angry they may be. They’ve had each other’s back through thick and thin, and they know that there’s enough bullshit in the world and that they want to be each other’s peace instead.

One note for myself at the end of writing this is that I definitely need to start treating myself with a lot more kindness. I needed it back then, I see that now, and especially more so now.