When Kindness Begins Without Permission
I never set out to become part of her story. I was just her neighbor. My days were full of errands, work, and ordinary life. But each time I saw her sitting alone, something in me stirred. It wasn’t guilt. It was recognition—the kind that grows with age, as we begin to understand how easily a person can fall through the cracks.
I didn’t know her story, but I could feel the absence in her life. One day, I brought her a plate of leftovers. Just a simple meal, nothing fancy. She nodded her thanks but said very little.
The next day, I brought her another. And then another.
Soon it became a rhythm—a plate of food every day for four years.
Not because she asked. Not because I expected anything in return. Just because it felt right.
Quiet Judgments, Louder Purpose
Not everyone understood. I caught glances from neighbors. Some whispered. Others shrugged. A few even questioned why I bothered.
“Isn’t it the city’s job to take care of people like that?” one person asked.
Maybe. But sometimes systems fail. And when they do, neighbors have a chance to become more than bystanders. We can become lifelines.
She never asked for more than what I gave her. Never made demands. Never assumed.
Yet in that small daily ritual, something larger bloomed.
She found comfort in the consistency. I found purpose in the practice. We didn’t need long conversations or grand expressions. Her quiet smile each evening said everything.
Continued on next page:
