The Kindness We Owe Strangers

Sometimes, it just takes a minute at a gate for your whole heart to break.

I was about to drive to Maasin, a city in the southern part of the Philippines, around two in the afternoon. It was brutally hot. I had just gotten outside our gate when I had to stop because our road is only one lane and a motorcab was coming in. As I waited, I noticed an old lady walking slowly under the sun, wiping sweat off her face.

I got out of the car and asked her where she was heading. She said she was going to Maasin. I offered her a ride and she smiled and said, "I won't decline your offer, I really need a ride."

As she walked toward me, she almost lost her balance. I rushed to her side and helped her to the car. She sat in the backseat, and as I started driving, I tried talking to her. That was when I realized something was off. Her stories did not match. She said she was going to meet her husband who worked in Sogod and that they had talked and laughed that morning. But when I asked about her son, she said he was studying, and later she said he was working.

I did not feel right about just driving her all the way to Maasin. I made a turn toward the capitol to figure out what to do. I asked if she remembered her address. She just asked me, "Where did you pick me up again?"

That was when I decided. I told her I would bring her home instead because it was not safe for her to be out there alone, not in that heat.

I tried finding her family on Facebook using the names she gave me but did not have much luck. I called my lola, which is the Filipino word for grandmother, but there was no answer. I called my stepfather instead. He recognized her name and told me she was a neighbor, that she had cancer, and that she was already showing signs of dementia. He also said her husband had died some time ago.

When Nanay, a general term of respect we use for elderly women here, overheard my stepfather saying her husband was dead, she started panicking and asking where he was. I quietly locked the car doors because I was afraid she might open them and leave. I told her gently, "Nanay, I need to bring you home. It is too hot and it is dangerous for you to be walking alone." She nodded and said, "Alright, let us just go home."

When we got to our neighborhood, I asked around and the neighbors pointed out her house. I parked the car and helped her out. She insisted on walking to her gate by herself. I watched her sit down by the entrance, and as I backed the car to leave, she smiled and waved. "Babye," she said.

Later on, I heard stories about her. They said she was not exactly kind to her neighbors. That she might not be on good terms with her son or her daughter-in-law. Some said her son visited her, but only briefly. I also heard she had two yayas, or nannies, but no one knew why she was alone that day. Some said she sometimes still went out to buy eggs for herself.

I do not know how much of that is true. Maybe all of it. Maybe none.

After dropping Nanay off, I went home instead of heading straight to Maasin. I found my lola outside, grabbing the laundry from the clothesline. I wanted to hug her, but she was busy, so I ended up scolding her a little, telling her that others could have done it. But that is just how she is. She feels weak when she has nothing to do. I helped her finish, keeping my emotions to myself, and then I finally left for Maasin.

While driving, I kept thinking about Nanay.

No matter what kind of person she might have been, it broke my heart to see an old woman alone, confused, and probably sick.

It made me think about how deeply loved my own lola is.

It made me realize how many elderlies out there do not have that.

I felt helpless. I still do.

It made me wonder if, one day, all of us end up needing the kindness of strangers, whether we deserve it or not.

I told myself I would never forget to check in on the elderly around me, even if they seem strong, even if they seem difficult.

As I drove away, I thought about my lola again and thanked God quietly that she still had people who loved her, that she would never have to wonder where home was.

But deep inside, I kept asking myself if loneliness is the final punishment for the lives we live, or if sometimes it just happens anyway, no matter what we did or did not do.

I just prayed for Nanay.

I prayed that even if she had hurt people in her life, even if she never got the chance to make things right, she would still find peace.