Random acts of kindness always make me feel the goodness of humanity.
I do the same.
Most probably you have forgotten me. I was the one who took out your carry-on luggage from the overhead bin on the plane. I am the one who makes sure that when you use the lavatory after me, it would be clean.
I am the customer who would not complain at all. If ever, I would jokingly tell you that people make mistakes. Because other people would not be as patient.
I even make the bed of the hotel room after I leave. Unfathomable right? No. I am a living testament of miracles.
I am the one who reminded you that you forgot your suitcase.
I am the passenger who did not file a case a long time ago in 2009, when your airline company destroyed my luggage. That is why my family or friends always wonder why I only travel light. I only smiled when my Tita Anne told me we have to be forgivable (err) forgiving. It runs in our family.
And other myriad genuine and sincere random acts of kindness.
Because those make me happy.
And like a boomerang they all come back a thousandfold. The Universe works that way.
I remember the receptionist at the inn who conversed with me for hours on end.
I remember the lady at the Post Office of Haddonfield, New Jersey.
I remember the tour bus guide officers who helped us with our Philly Tour when we, inadvertently, lost our tickets. One of them is my namesake but I did not tell him.
I remember the tall man in period costume who gladly had a photo opportunity with my companions.
The man in charge of the Liberty Bell.
The Uber and bus drivers. One even offered us bottles of water.
The nice lady at the hotel who gave me two bottles of water but I just could not take them because it was too much. They gave me a bag of freebies upon check-in.
The scholarly blonde-bespectacled-lady at the New York Library who was grateful I asked about the Thomasites.
The cheerful food attendants at the Italian ristorante, the French restaurant, the Irish restaurant, the Vietnamese restaurant, the Korean restaurant, the Chinese restaurant, the Thai restaurant, food trucks, and the American restaurants.
The Spanish-speaking-family who helped me switch off the light in the car when it was parked at the supermarket.
And, the housekeeping lady from the Dominican Republic.
Thank you very much indeed!
Like I always write in my column in our newspaper, we have a mutual friend, and His name is Jesus.
It is poignant though because with random acts of kindness we will never meet again here...
Not yet. For now at least...
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