“Be kind to everyone you met,” said my Grandma when I was 6. She always repeating, kindness is easiest way to get through someone’s heart and mind. Now I always care a little bit too much about everyone I met in life.
I don’t really care whether they committed sins before or had their life fumbled then society leave them alone, let them dying due to loneliness and regrets.
Sometimes I care too much and willingly to fix everyone but myself. I brought someone back into life, wake them up from the darkness, then would offer warmest meal with a hug afterwards.
In another hand, I struggled to breathe on my own. My hands are shaking to have a spoonful of meals for my daily basis. I will immediately reject someone’s embrace. I live alone in cold and surrounded by darkness for too long.
I always care about everyone’s wounds, forgetting my bleeding hand while wrapping their wounds in bandaids. I always care about everyone’s feelings, forgetting my own heart which has been broken into pieces by them in slightest way they could ever imagine. I always care about everyone’s health, forgetting I breathe too much nicotine in days just to cope with unbearable pain in my chest.
I would never blame my grandma for taught me to spread kindness in every paths I took. But sometimes I wished, to be careless to another human being and put myself first beside anyone else.
Sometimes I don’t want to listen to someone’s sore, because my heart is aching too. Sometimes I don’t want to offer a warm hug to someone, because I never bother to give myself a hug and proper appreciation for every achievements I got. Sometimes I just want to live for myself. Not to help everyone with their pain.
