Via Skype:

“[15:09:24] <ex colleague> says: do me a favour

[15:09:36] <ex colleague> says: go to <a current colleague>’s desk…

[15:09:41] <ex colleague> says: and give her a hug from me

[15:09:43] <ex colleague> says: “

A strange request but I figure, why not? I’ve read enough about how therapeutic hugs are…

So off I went… a few steps down the corridor, around the corner, to a team room with people tapping away at their desks and gave her a big squeeze with a message from the sender. A welcome interruption and more than enough of a reason to smile and laugh.

Back at my desk, I double-click <ex colleague>’s name. Tap, tap, tap; “… She says thanks.”

I should have thanked him too; because of his little request, the day was a little brighter for all of us.

The power words have to lift a mood or change a life never ceases to amaze me. Sitting on the fence between optimism and pessimism, swaying with the day’s winds… What finally influenced me to jump off to the brighter side? My mood changer for the day came in the form of a single sentence:

“One of the nice things about problems is that a good many of them do not exist except in our imaginations.” – Steve Allen

A tall boy walks past my car, chatting warmly to another little china, possibly less than half his height and of a skin tone on the opposite end of the colour spectrum. In matching uniforms, they join a trickle of school goers. No reservations, no worries. As he smiles, leaning slightly towards his friend to listen to him, I catch a glimpse of hope for a future where the prejudices of the past finally retire to fill only history books, museums and inanimate architecture.

A facial and manicure appointment this morning came with an unexpected complimentary body exfoliation. While I agreed to a half body treatment (nudity isn’t really my thing), the exfoliation, moisture treatment and massage did little to relax me. It wasn’t until a waft of lemon scent drifted from a product as it squeezed into the therapist’s hand that I felt at ease. A little lemon scent managed to do what no amount of kneading could.

A trigger of past memories or the mere refreshing effect inherent in nature’s sour little gift; either way, the success of an hour-and-a-half beauty session lay mainly in a few drops of fruit juice.

The sign on the Nescafé vending machine at the Laundromat this morning sums it up nicely.

Every now and then something breaks and we’re forced to appreciate the small things that we routinely take for granted. A few hours ago, I made breakfast for my mother who injured her right hand and will not be able to do much with it for the next few days. But it’s not so much her inability to do certain house chores or cook breakfast that has me most in awe of the intricacies of the body, just how much it does for us and how little we appreciate it; it’s the shock and nerve shattering pain she felt while performing the simple action of opening a bag of crisps.

I don’t think we’d ever be able to take stock of just how much we really take for granted.

Today, a surgeon called a former patient going through chemotherapy to treat colon cancer to ask how she was doing and to tell her to “hang in there”, to be strong and to tell her that she’s doing well. She sat and cried “happy tears”, because he took the time to acknowledge her as a person and not just “a colon and 20 000 bucks”. He showed that he cared and it made her a little stronger.

Sometimes we take for granted what a big difference small gestures can make.

I saw a man, today, spare a woman his anger and frustration through humour. A lightly delivered joke and gentle movements shared his feelings without aggression; delivered his message with kindness.

A few minutes earlier, his beard and silent demeanour at first made me see him as unfriendly; possibly harsh.

Those few seconds gave me a glimpse of two often invisible little things: the beauty of mercy and potential worthlessness of judging men by their first impressions.