Yesterday, I was eating lunch in a restaurant alone and reading, and I did what I had been pretty sure I would do one day given that the glasses of soy milk are put in these fancy glass holders – I spilled the soy milk. On the table and my book, but thankfully not myself.
I am so used to being a klutz that I very calmly dripped the liquid off my book, reached in my bag for tissues, which I discovered were not there, and then used the one wet wipe on my table to wipe up as best I could. Either the waiters were busy or did not see me, but no one came to my aid and my table was a sloppy wet mess.
Then, the guy at the next table who was also alone, put his hand up and told a waitress in Chinese to help me. I was pleasantly surprised and mouthed a grateful thank you.
And yesterday I also saw this:
These people are heroes, modest as they might be, who showed immense courage during terrible times but the gossamer thread that connects them to the man at the table next to me who raised his hands is kindness. They noticed something going on with the people around them and just the plain niceness in them meant they could not stay silent and do nothing.
Maybe if we all practise kindness, one day courage will come to us.