I’ve been listening to Mac Miller’s Circles, the companion album to his last record before his untimely death.
Last Sunday, I was sitting by stacks of chairs at the edge of the room in church. I was sipping water and watching people. I was very tired and overstimulated from the large attendance from that Sunday. I was also angry which was rare for me these few years. I have been frustrated, disappointed but never actually angry for quite some time. I wasn’t in the best mood to say the least.
This little girl, the most adorable thing started putting back the chairs back to the stacks. Her height was barely over half of the chairs she was ‘carrying’. ‘Carrying’ is a terrible word to describe what she was doing. She was leaning her body mass over chairs twice her size, pushing herself against the chairs. She was battling against two foes: the clump of chairs she was trying to put back and the friction of the carpet working against her push and pull.
I wanted to help her. I had the physical energy to help her. But, I was so overwhelmed. That Sunday morning was not a good one. I was beaten, intimidated from earlier happenings. All I could do was scooched over, giving her space to dump the chairs however she wanted. If she laid them gently, any inevitable slip could be compensated from the space I offered. No one was close enough to get hurt if the chairs fell over.
While she was trying to arrange them on the stack, my arms reached out and provided extra muscle. It was more than enough to get the job done. After that was done, I turned to her and forced myself to squeeze every nerve to signal every face muscle to give the biggest smile. I thought what she was doing was very admirable, considering the age and her capability. Maybe I was underestimating her a little. The point was, I didn’t want to discourage her. I didn’t want my bad morning to stain her. I believe that people can spread their vibes to the people around them unconsciously. If you were a bitter person deep down and you were doing your best in hiding it, a bit of it will leak to the environment you are in and affect the people. Heck, the secrecy is eventually becomes the element that makes it polluting.
Thank you, I told her. I really tried to be nice, to be overly eager. That is how I see church people. They were exceedingly friendly to an uncomfortable extent for a lot of people, enough for others to question their genuineness. But that was what most church communities were founded on. These values are what make us feel identifiable as Christians in the secular world outside the chapel doors. It was our representation and also the foundation we rested on. I thought that if I were to turn to her and gave her a nod like how I always did with the adults of the congregation, she would be confused, worse put off. I feel that even adults don’t even understand when I gave them my head nods instead of speaking up. What’s there to say about a child who has not even live half the years I had?
I thanked her, with as much expression as I could. It took every ounce of energy to smile, to give a big grin. And so I did. Her back was almost turned against me when I was thanking her. She turned around, shone her white pearls to me. Her smile was twice as big as mine, in energy and size. What a feat! Taking into account her small face and her physique, it was nice to see such a smile. It was ice-melting, very warm and fuzzy. Following the smile was a ‘you’re welcome’ with the cutest child-like innocence and purest delight that a child would have. Her voice was soft but I could tell she was exclaiming when she was saying “you’re welcome”. She really meant it, I thought. For the rest of the Sunday, I felt tired but my heart was a bit warmer than before.
So long, have I not witness such joy that came from helping, that came from sacrificing personal energy, that came from the act of selflessness. For the rest of the week, that one personal interaction I had with her was always at the back of my mind.
What I find a bit annoying with people from church is that it always felt like when they were helping someone, they were helping because they had to. Because they were taught to do so, because it was the “right” thing to do. Yet, these people who are more than willing to give you shelter and food if you were to go homeless, are not willing to be vulnerable. Being vulnerable is a very hard thing to do, regardless of what faith and belief you walk in. But being vulnerable allows strangers to see what makes you human. Your efforts to help others would have a different meaning if it doesn’t supplement the ordinary meaning to “love thy neighbor”.
But the world we live in is a stressful one. It is hard enough to take care of yourself, ensuring you are on the right path. Success and happiness do not necessarily equate to doing compassion to the strangers around you. Kindness becomes rare, and to the poor victims of abuse and harassment or bullying, kindness becomes unusual. We become skeptical of hidden motives and ill-intents of others when they offer a helping hand.
A personal difficulty I find in helping someone that I have no connection with is the sense of selfishness. Being selfish isn’t inherently bad, at least when it does not directly cause harm to another. But when selfishness could have prevented healing or had aggravated the harm, the moral line becomes blurred. A lot of the things I enjoy involved me spending a lot of time by myself. Writing this involved a lot of forethought in showers, walking alone, listening to music alone. I like bathing in the aura of myself. It makes me confident and ready to tackle the world out of my room: sharing writings like these, going on radio and engaging personal discussions with academic staff.
But too much of myself is incredibly suffocating. There is discouragement to provide aid for another, but there is always justification to place my self-interest first. And I feel it’s the same thing for couples who marry and start forming their own families. Family always came first despite the work demand and social coercion. It feels less satisfying to help someone I don’t know than to treat myself to a good movie or videogame back home.
When I was as young as the girl, I had similar intentions. Helping was not so much an automatic response, but it was an act I sincerely wanted to do because for one, the joy that came from being helpful was exhilarating and another, I was proud of the help I provided. Today, that sense of accomplishment is replaced with worldly desires. While they do feel good, it still feels a bit off from the original feeling of giving a helping hand.
I’ve been listening to a lot of Mac Miller’s Swimming this past week.
