It’s nice to be nice

Two lovely scenes of human kindness that I witnessed today just made the world a hopeful place (amid the horrific UK Parliament tragedy that rocked our sense of calm anew).
In the supermarket, a Caucasian gentleman cared enough to move his stuffs on the till to make room for my groceries, handed me the stick to divide our items as we both waited for our turn to pay in the counter, generously flashing his genuine smile in response to my thank-yous. It was his pleasure, he said. Oh, I’d love to do the same, I told him, had we switched places. That broke the ice between total strangers who were actually co-immigrants or co-travelers in this scheme of migration. We exchanged a few ideas about enjoying our relative peace and security in Canada, and how we needed to protect it by doing our small acts of good deeds every chance we get.
At home it was the husband’s turn to reciprocate that kindness that I received through a magnanimous act that wowed me. There’s this Caucasian fridge repairman who checked our appliance and happened to mention his stiff neck problem. He’s seen his physiotherapist and chiropractor, but is still feeling a lot of pain.
Coincidentally at that instant, I was nursing some pinched nerve kind of pain on my left hand, which led to the talk of how I got a self-taught massage therapist for a husband as well. And before I knew it, Eddie’s hands were working their magic on the French-Canadian’s neck, back, shoulder and arm to the guy’s pleasure!
All three of us enjoyed that encounter, pleased that Eddie was able to bring significant relief to the technician’s stiff muscle problem, and possibly more than we all expected. He opened up to us, unloaded some of his work-and-home-borne stresses, a spontaneous reaction that possibly brought him some more relief. Who knows, a lot of racial and cultural prejudices were washed away, too, with this random chance to rub another person’s back, tapping the hand’s power to calm and heal, rather than hurt and slay.

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