A couple of years ago, on a much older blog written by a much younger me, I recounted an incident that happened when I was in Hong Kong one Christmas. I'll recount it here, now, for the purposes of introducing a topic inspired by something I saw on the bus on the way to work today.
For those of you are familiar with Hong Kong, I was in Causeway Bay with my mom and sister, picking up snack foods to populate the over-priced minibar at the Excelsior Hotel (oooh fancy). Our destination? Wellcome {sic}, a very popular supermarket that, like most supermarkets and convenience stores in Hong Kong, accept the Octopus Card as a form of payment. For those not familiar with Hong Kong, the Octopus Card is a store-value card that can be used to pay for any form of public transportation in Hong Kong and can also be used at places like McDonald's, Wellcome, 7-Eleven, and the like. My former boss in Hong Kong could use it to get into his building and had it automatically charge up with money from his credit card whenever the balance dipped below HK$50. Spiffy.
But I digress.
While at the supermarket and possibly wondering if I could finagle an extra-large package of my favorite fish snack (don't ask if you don't already know what it is) out of my mother—in spite of the fact that I was 20/21 years old at the time—I happened to overhear a little girl's voice crying, rather shrilly as most such children do, "Mommy! Mommy! Moooooommmmmmmeeeeeeeeee!"
At first I passed off this assault on my aural senses as a typical child whining about how Mommy wouldn't get her an extra set of batteries (because I was standing right next to a giant rack of Energizer and Duracell products at the time) or whatever it is kids nowadays whine about not getting enough of. At length, however, my instincts told me to at least spare the little girl a sympathetic glance.
It was then that my astute observation skills noted that she was alone, with no one resembling her "Mommy" in the vicinity. She was a little brunette girl who could've been Canadian or American judging by her accent (which wasn't exactly discernable through the onslaught of hiccoughing sobs), probably four years old and not very much higher than my knee. She was clutching a stuffed toy of what looked like a mix of a rabbit and a pig and her face was in tears…not of the crocodile variety, but the red-faced kind that basically spelled out the fact that she was scared out of her mind.
Acting immediately, I knelt down in front of the girl and asked where her mommy was. I looked her in the eye and gave her a little smile and, after she'd calmed down enough to look at me, put a reassuring hand on her shoulder (I only touched it, I didn't grip it). She told me her Mommy was lost and she didn't know where to find her. I tucked a lock of hair behind the girl's ear and told her that I'd help her find her Mommy if she could tell me what she looked like. Brown hair. Pink shirt. Long and wavy hair. Kinda tall. Not particularly helpful but getting her talking was naturally the best thing to do as it calmed her down some.
My mother and sister appear by my side with a timing that only the Chan women can pull off, and I fill them in very quickly and they both go off to find a woman matching the little girl's description.
My own task? To bring the girl to the checkout counters and find someone who could announce into the loudspeakers that the girl was lost and waiting near the entrance. I put a gentle hand on her back and started guiding her through the crowd, and as we walk I let my hand dangle down beside her. She took it and squeezed it really tightly, not wanting to let go. (You NEVER take a child's hand if you do not know her; you let your hand hang there and let her take it. It's a comfort thing. Some kids get really scared at that kind of thing and the last thing you need is someone flying off the handle when they're already terrified.)
I keep her talking, asking her very general questions as we walked, all the while my eyes keeping a look out for a pink shirt topped with wavy brown hair.
We're pretty close to the checkout counters when a woman comes by, looking frantic. She looks down at the girl, then up at me with wide eyes. The look she gave me in the split-second I saw it wasn't very kind…it was the "who are you and what are you doing with my daughter let her go this instant" kind of look, as though I was some kidnapper looking to make it out of the store while tricking the girl in to a false sense of security.
The girl instantly runs over to her in relief, and I explain simply that I found her daughter alone and crying and was worried about her. The girl adds, "The nice lady was helping me look for you, Mommy."
The mother looks up at me and, this time, gives me a grateful smile and a rushed thank you. They bustled out of the store and I haven't seen either of them since.
Today on the bus, I saw a young woman get out of her seat to let an older woman sit down.
What surprised me wasn't the fact that it'd happened, but that I was surprised that I was surprised. (INFINITE LOOP)
When did we forget to be good Samaritans? Coming from the biggest bitch on the block and possibly one of the most sarcastic, cynical families on the face of the earth (minus my mother, who through it all has always maintained a very level-headed and fair view of life in general), I know this is a pretty large pill to force down your gullet but stay with me here.
When we were younger, in kindergarten and grade school, we had all these little lessons. From Aesop's Fables to your sweet little teacher, you were told to share, to be nice, to smile, to have fun, etc etc etc. When did we forget all that? When did it become okay to stop doing those things just because "no one else does them or will appreciate them?" or because "if I do people will walk all over me?" When did those reasons start shutting up your conscience?
I say this not to be preachy, but because I know I am guilty of the same. I very seldom go out of my way to do something nice for a stranger just for the sake of doing something nice. In a city like Shanghai, your deed will very likely go unnoticed, unappreciated, and forever mark you as a doormat. It's not what you would call "worth it." And I'll be perfectly honest, the fact that it has to be "worth my while" for me to do something nice absolutely disgusts me. When did I get this way? Is it because I've been exposed to a harsh, uncaring bitch of a city like Shanghai that has forever disillusioned my view on the human race?
If I were to consider giving up my seat on the subway or bus for an elderly person, anyone who has spent any time in Shanghai will know that there's going to be some other jackass trying to weed their way into the seat, even though you intended it for a senior citizen. What would then ensue is a shouting match that ultimately does nothing but get you riled up. Not the best way to start your day, eh?
Let's take it an additional step back, to Hong Kong, circa December 2004. It wasn't the holiday season or anything like that, it was the fact that there was a crying little girl in a giant, high-traffic store all by herself in a city where people basically suck a giant shit-ton of ass. (The imagery here is stunning, I know.) A little girl alone in a store? Even if she hadn't been Caucasian I would've thought the same thing: kidnappers or some other form of asshat scumbag.
You can call me paranoid all you want, but that would simply mean that you just don't know Hong Kong like my family does.
Beyond the worry that the girl was in personal danger as well as scared that she would never see her Mommy again, the Mommy's reaction was something that got my gears turning a little more rapidly.
Of course she would assume I was a bad person, out to snatch her daughter and not look back. In Hong Kong, it's not because I'm Chinese. It's because I'm a stranger. And all "strangers" in Hong Kong basically suckass. It's a ridiculous air of mistrust that permeates the entire city from the Island to Kowloon, regardless of political, socioeconomic, or professional standing. I'm guilty of thinking this way, too.
My problem is that the logical reaction for the mother to have was to be wary of me. Why couldn't she assume the best of me? Give me the benefit of the doubt before giving me the stink eye? Thing is, I know the answer because, putting myself in her shoes (a feat I am so capable of doing), I would've very likely reacted the very same way.
Did I mention I was also disgusted with the fact that no one else had stepped up to help her right away? That everyone else just ignored her the way I did at first? Did I also mention that the fact that I just admitted to thinking the worst of people, even though that same attitude was thrown at me?
Nowadays it's so hard to just do something nice or think the best of people because you get so weighed down by the people who disappoint you or, worse, hurt you. You look at around, you see the very visible bad stuff, and it just gets to you. It's hard to do a nice thing when no one else seems to want to bother. (Notice I didn't say "right" thing, I said "nice" thing. It's not about right and wrong. It's about being a good Samaritan.) In a given day, I can riff off a list of all the shitty things I see in this city. I'm sure many other people in similar circumstances could do the same.
But how often do you sit back and take note of the good stuff that happens? The only reason the bad stuff sticks out is because it's so obvious and visible and, well, it pisses you off. I want to believe that, not unlike the probability of dying in a plane crash, you are a bazillion times more likely to spot the good in people than if you just step back and look at the big picture. You focus on the bad? On the disaster itself? Sure, you'll end up a cynical asshole like me. But for every bad deed you see, maybe try being fair to your own sense of well-being and try to notice when the good things happen, too?
I'm not going to lie here, folks. That's a very, very hard thing for me to believe even as I type it.
People will run down the street, so self-absorbed that they'll push each other over, knock each other out of the way, get in each other's way, cut in line, the whole nine. They just don't care. They do their own thing because hey, they come first.
It's a vicious cycle because that kind of treatment only breeds more of it.
I will probably never stop being a cynic. It's a sad thought, really, but I just can't help but think the worst of people, even when it bothers me that people probably think the worst of me. Even as I try to see the best in others, all I get is grief.
Is it really "today's world" that breeds this in people? The sense of self-entitlement? The self-centered arrogance that comes through in the simple fact that people can't be bothered to just say "thank you" or "please" or "excuse me," no matter how much such a small gesture might make someone else's day? The lack of necessity to pay attention when other people are talking? The motive behind any good deed being a giant slice of selfish self-gratitude?
I don't think so. I think this bullshit has been around forever, but because people are so self-centered they think it's "today's world." What do I mean? When you're young, you're taught all these valuable morals and lessons that you're supposed to carry with you for the rest of your life. But so very quickly, you find yourself looking into a festering cesspool of egotism, disrespect, self-importance, and false pretenses. So you think of the lessons you were taught as a kid, think they're supposed to apply "today" but they don't, and so you assume that something's wrong with the state of the world today. Newsflash: everyone was a kid once, everyone has been disillusioned.
I look around and shake my head at the world around me. My parents look around and shake their heads at the world around them. My grandparents looked around and shook their heads at the world around them. I'm absolutely sure my great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents, all the way back to the butchers of Shandong Province from whom I am descended, looked around and shook their heads at the world around them. (And for the love of god before you whine at me remember that history's just what you read on paper, plus, let's not forget that when thinking about the past, you're usually looking at it through rose-colored glasses.)
The thought of that doesn't comfort me. That doesn't make it okay for us to be this way. All it does it absolutely disgust me. People, past present and future, disgust me. I disgust me. Every so often you find a gem of a person who is truly, truly altruistic, who doesn't give a damn what anyone around them thinks and does something just to make someone else smile. But that's so rare because even the most virtuously good people get taken down so easily by the people around them.
Someone once quoted some saying at me that went "a good deed is its own reward" or some such high-minded bullshit. When I heard that for the very first time, I remember asking, in wide-eyed innocence, why there had to be a reward at all.
Even something so small as remembering some detail about someone is something "nice." It's such a tiny gesture but it makes that other person feel remembered and they feel good about themselves. What's it cost you to remember that someone grew up in Toronto and had a cat named Benny but they had to leave it behind because they were moving to Hong Kong?
What's it cost you to remember anything at all about the people around you, even if you're just meeting them for the very first time? A little bit of attention. Put yourself aside for once and just pay a little goddamned attention to the people around you instead.
Six billion people on this fucking planet, and a significant proportion of them can only seem to give a fuck about one. That's my cynicism right there. Never mind that the guy who just knocked me backwards rushing off the subway was probably trying to get to work so that he wouldn't lose his job so that he could feed his family, right? God I really hate myself sometimes.
What about just smiling at a stranger? I haven't done that in a long time. Not since college. Just smiling at someone not because you want to get in their pants or need something from them; I'm not going to list out the good things that can happen for you if you just smiled at a stranger. I'm not going to say "smile at someone because it will make you feel good, too." I'm going to say, smile at someone because it makes them feel good.
And guess what.
I'm sickened by the fact that right now a string of "consequences" for giving a stranger a smile are running through my head.
Fuck you, human race. And fuck you, me.
PS - See Jaya I totally didn't mention you in this blog thing at all.
PPS - Oops. :D
PPPS - I'm still awesome.
PPPPS - The little girl's name was Sara, she was born in Toronto and had a cat named Benny that she had to leave behind because her family was moving to Hong Kong. She was due to turn six years old on August 15th of the next year, and if my memory serves me correctly and this took place in December 2004, that means she is going to turn nine years old tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Sara.
PPPPPS - 2,878 words.
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