Connecting Through Kindness

A deep yearning swells within me as I watch the Stories with a Sunday Roast conversations unfold on my screen. I want to reach through and wrap my arms tightly around every single person, to feel their warmth and smell all the human smells. I love a good hug, and while I cannot imagine how many more I have left in my lifetime, I can almost feel some of them as these words dart around the screen. It’s like an electric surge of affection for faces I know only through digital threads and shared conversations.

Fairly recently, on one of our playground adventures, I took the kids and a few tag-along friends to KFC for way too salted chips, greasy chicken, and a whole heap of clattering chatter while it rained slowly outside. We don’t go to KFC very often, yet at the time it seemed easier than dragging eight kids into the supermarket to hear the echoes of “Can we get this?” and “Please mum, just this once, etc etc. About halfway through dusting off salt and sorting out who got the drumsticks this time, I noticed a young woman to my right.

It’s not uncommon for me to do this, especially out in public. I notice things about people. Eavesdropping is one of many foundations of a good writer and screenwriter, right? When I was on a bus one day, the person in front of me was googling the same question in several different ways, hoping to receive a different result maybe. Unfortunately for her, herbal cigarettes are not really any better for you, no matter what words you try. Outside the window, I noticed a barber with smiling eyes welcoming his next long-haired larrikin. They both laugh at something that tickles their fancy. The bus driver is playing traditional Indian music, choosing his taste compared to the radio tunes that a lot of other bus drivers blast. There is also a weirdish smell coming from a few seats in front of me (possibly closely linked to the herbal cigarettes, at my best guess).

Returning to KFC, I noticed a young woman deeply absorbed in her phone, as most people her age tend to be these days. The furrow between her brows and the frown on her lips showed her distress. As we were leaving, I crouched down and mustered up the courage to ask, "I know this may seem strange, but would you like a hug?". Luckily, she didn’t think I was a complete nutcase and took up my offer, wetting my shirt slightly with dampness and shedding some of her tears. The hug without words lasted as long as she needed, I didn’t pull away or hesitate at that point. Slowly, she thanked me, likely for more than just the hug. She explained she had just had a huge fight with her mum and, I guess, was trying to eat her emotions in response. I listened, gave another hug, and suggested a Dodie song called Secret for the Mad with mention of the lyrics “And there will be a day when you can say you're okay and mean it”. I would have liked to spend more time with the girl who maybe thought I was mad. However, children needed to be loaded and buckled up into the car by that point, hopefully without getting drenched by the increasing rain speed.