I love Lucy, Haraya, and the power of indefatigable joy
“If you see someone without a smile, give them one of yours.” ― Dolly Parton
“Imagine?!”
Lucy said, shaking her head in bewilderment, with one hand on her chin for emphasis. I’m unsure when I first heard Lucy say that, when I realized it was her catchphrase, or what it was that she indeed, could not imagine. When I met Lucy, I was fresh out of imagination.
I’d recently lost a dear friend. Frighteningly, my grief soon-turned-to trauma because at the time, I was trapped in one of the most toxic environments I’ve ever seen, with some of the most ethically compromised people I hope to ever meet. Not too many months later, I took the longest plane ride of my life and met a new cohort of individuals, with Lucy among them. Depleted, overwhelmed, and unsure if I was walking into another game of Russian Roulette, I didn’t have the capacity for imagination. I barely had the capacity to breathe.
I wanted to eat, work, sleep, advance my career, and repeat.
But there was Lucy. Always with a smile, unparalleled professionalism, and a friendship invitation. As I began to sort myself, my colleagues surprised me by requesting that my routine include another element: baking. Apparently my welcome sweets were a smash and they wanted me to keep them coming. Low and behold, Lucy was a baker herself and we discovered a shared passion.
“Imagine?!”
In time, the exhaustion faded. I became more secure, and Lucy continued to be the generous soul that she is. In the frightened state of needing to unbraid and rebraid my hair in a non-African diasporic country, the day before a long awaited holiday, Lucy loaned me her blow dryer, insisting that I shouldn’t spend money on anything she could provide. I ran to her flat in 41 degrees Celsius (105 degrees Fahrenheit) heat, rushed up the stairs, and found her ever-reassuring smile waiting for me on the other end.
I’m unsure if Lucy quite understood why I needed a blow dryer in heat that could fry French toast, but I think she was less concerned with the logistics, and more concerned with being a conduit thereto, in any way she could be.
Eventually, I accepted one of Lucy’s invitations. Immediately, I regretted not sooner doing so. In my prior project, I was mired in carcinogens. Now, Lucy and her family surrounded me with warmth. Their hospitality and humor was infectious. My mother clutches her chest every time I board a plane; Lucy and her family are the people she prays for me to meet when I land.
And just like that, we became a unit. Sometimes with colleagues, sometimes a smaller crew, we took the town and painted it red. Dinners here. Restaurant excursions there. Carpooling when possible. And repeat trips to Lucy’s flat for all the sweets one could muster. Sometimes a delectable cheesecake; others blueberry cookies. Our bake-off sessions may have increased our blood sugar, but more than anything, they replenished my soul.
It’s often when one is in need, the most vibrant souls prove themselves to be a friend indeed. I was definitely in need, and Lucy was above-and-beyond, a friend indeed.
As I wrapped up my work, Lucy and I vowed to remain friends. Before I left, as a token of friendship, Lucy gifted me an incredible, hand-crafted, crochet stuffed animal. Jubilant beyond belief, I immediately showed it to all of my colleagues, photographed it, and sent photos to friends the world over. I promised to take my new companion around the world, and tell everyone the story of how she came to be.
In our last professional meeting, as I futilely fought back tears, I told Lucy how much her kindness meant to me. That when she met me, my soul was cracked. How I didn’t have the strength to trust anyone, and her open heart healed me. I asked her to never change, and to always remember that what may seem like a small gesture can change someone’s life, as her small gestures changed mine.
Sometime onward, keeping my promise to remain in touch, I spoke with Lucy. The bubbly, bright, benevolent individual that gave me the most glorious send-off, had been cracked. I was crestfallen. Subject to insolence, mistreatment, and outright degradation, Lucy began to wither as any human being would. Sharing stories unconveyed through the highlight reel of social media, I was worried. Lucy was fighting battles in quicksand, constrained to the point of suffocation.
With each passing detail, my heart sank further. When her frustration turned into tears, my heart broke. Yet despite everything that had been thrown at her, Lucy still found the energy to dance during the most torrential thunderstorms. When asked how, she declared in defiance, “BECAUSE I CANNOT LET THEM STEAL MY JOY!”
And in that moment, I realized the true gift Lucy gave me.
I initially thought that it was Lucy’s incredible craftsmanship which left me beaming when I departed. Now I realize, what shone so brightly was the return of my joy. Lucy re-gifted me mine, by sharing hers. With every cookie, every warmhearted conversation, every cultural exchange, and every thoughtful check-in. I thought it was gone forever, but really it was in hibernation, waiting for the right people to make it feel safe enough to resurface. Lucy’s steadfast commitment to ensure I felt welcome, to understand me as a person and not an immutable trait, brought it back to life.
I kept my promise with Lucy’s gift, which now has several passport stamps. The moment Lucy gave her to me, I knew I wanted to give her a name with significance in Lucy’s native language. After using an online translator, I sent Lucy a suggestion. She politely responded, “I’m not sure that’s what you mean. Let me get back to you on this.”
A few minutes later, Lucy messaged me and said, “I think the word you’re looking for, is ‘Haraya.’” I responded, “that’s a beautiful name! It’s perfect!”
That’s the most direct translation she could find.
It means, imagine.
