I notice a scar on someone’s face, but not think about the story behind it. I see a boat buried in sand, but not wonder about how it got there. I fail to acknowledge that there is a story behind everything or everyone I come across. A few days ago, I was surrounded by thousands of seashells on a sandy beach. Hunting for the “prettiest” and most “colorful” shells, failing to recognize something. Each seashell picked up from the beach used to inhabit a living creature. Creatures who road through salty waves, and made their way to shore. I picked up a few shells and noticed a perfectly drilled hole in most of them. I put them down, I didn’t want a broken seashell, I thought; ignoring the story behind that perfect hollow space. The holes drilled into these seashells represent death – natural selection. Other creatures make a hole, eating the creature that once inhabited that shell. I picked up the seashell, admiring the noticeable hole on its side; I recognized it’s story. A similar encounter presented itself at Señor Frog the next day.

My friends and I were enjoying ourselves; dancing, singing, drinking – living our best lives without a care in the world and without a care about others around us. I sat down at our table while my friends kept dancing. In front of me, I noticed a waiter going back and forth, table to table. English wasn’t a strong language of his. Customers trying to order through the music, jumping through pools of people trying to get to the kitchen and back on time. A huge bowl of queso withers from the palms of his hands and splatters on the floor. He stood there for a few seconds, with a face of defeat. He ran to the kitchen to grab napkins. Before he came back, I had already picked up the bowl and wiped down the area.
I got up, we made eye contact, “Thank you”
He pauses
“So much”
Tears swelling in his eyes

I noticed his face of defeat, and chose to think about what could possibly be his story. Probably new to this country, working over 60 hours a week, supporting his family, trying to learn English as his second language. A little encounter of kindness emerged because I chose to step through the looking glass