Baby Footstep Short Story

Footsteps

The many moments in our lives, the decisions we make, and the actions we take, impacts both us and others. But I believe the true beginning to this story, the first baby footstep, lies in my experience in Sabah.

I was 8, waiting outside McDonald’s for my mother when I noticed a group of children. They were around my age, but their chapped faces were wan, their arms and legs caked with dust and grime from the road. They approached passers-by, pleading, if they could spare some change? But people continued to bustle down the street, pretending not to see them.

Not long after, my mother emerged, carrying bags of fries. Thinking they were for me, I rushed towards her, reaching out my arms eagerly - only to see my mother heading in another direction to pass the bags to the children. My face fell.

But at that very instant, I witnessed joy blossoming on their faces of the children like a young bud uncurling its first petal. It was like chancing upon a morning dew, untouched even by the light foot of the early hare. It prodded at the depths of my mind, pleasantly unearthing something refreshing.

I would have liked to tell you that that incident gave me profound insight into the essence of compassion. Or at the very least, I conjured up some dramatic notion about empathy.

But that was not the case.

Compassion isn’t something that comes with a finger snap. It is something that is gradually built up over time. But sometimes we just need a little push, to start up