My first year of university, my dorm floor is pretty much all first-years like myself, living alone for the first time, trying to figure out what we want to do, and desperately missing our families and friends. The very first day we move in, one girl at the far end of the hall makes it a point to ask everyone when their birthday is. We figure she’s into astrology or something, but lo and behold, whenever someone’s birthday rolls around, she has a cake or cookies ready, and leads the entire dorm floor in singing happy birthday. When we ask her about it, her response is that you don’t stop celebrating birthdays just because you’re technically a grown-up, and that we need reasons to celebrate now more than ever, now that we’re all living away from our families and stressed out by classes and trying to learn how to be adults.

As the year goes on, my dorm floor gets closer and closer. By Christmas, we’re all studying together, partying together, making exhausted Sunday brunch together, and going to each other for homework or relationship help or advice, or just to rant. The girl’s birthday is in February, and we noticed that although she bakes for everyone else, she doesn’t usually have much more than a single cookie or a bite or two of cake. One of my roommates asks her about it, and she admits that she doesn’t really like cake; she prefers fruit pie, but isn’t very good at baking it. It’s clear what we have to do.

The girl’s birthday falls right in the middle of midterms, so we are all up late studying, anyway. As soon as midnight hits, we knock on her door, wait for the, “Come in,” and the entire dorm floor files into her room, my roommate holding the cherry pie he made, lit with candles. All forty of us sing her happy birthday, and my roommate happily presents her with the pie. She is almost in tears by the end of it, and admits that she was so stressed with exams, she’d decided she wasn’t going to bother celebrating her own birthday. That won’t do, either, so we decide we’ll go out and celebrate together in a week, once midterms are done, and we stick to it.

That’s years past now, but I’m still in touch with her, and she’s still extraordinary, as a doctor and as a person, always thinking of how she can help other people. For me, though, nothing ever tops the eighteen-year-old girl trying to offer comfort and continuity to a bunch of other stressed and frightened students, and how she turned us from a bunch of strangers into a second family, and made our dorm a home!

(I wake up feeling sick and miserable, but I have to work, so I drag my sick carcass in. I get in late and overall feel bad. A few hours into my shift, an older lady comes in with a smile, saying she wants to pay her bill in her unit. I say it’s no problem, but I sound stuffed up and I sniffle and croak. I apologize for being sick and that I probably look and sound gross. The woman looks at me.)

Customer: “Oh, honey, no! You’re fine. You’re sick, and you look it, but there’s nothing wrong with that; you can’t help it. Really, it’s fine.”

Me: *giving her a smile* “Thank you.”

(I process her bill and as I am printing a receipt:)

Me: “I don’t know. It’s probably the change in weather. I’m a scrawny guy; I get cold easily.”

(I laugh it off and the woman only looks at me with concern.)

Customer: “Maybe it’s allergies; have you thought of that? Well, there is a dollar store up the road, very cheap. You should get some allergy medication, and if that doesn’t work, buy some cold medicine. That should do the trick!”

Me: “Why, thank you. I should be going to lunch here soon; perhaps I’ll run up there.”

(She nods, takes her receipt, and walks to the door before turning around.)

Customer: “I believe in being kind and understanding to people; we all share the same planet, after all.”

(I agree and thank her for the advice and bid her a good day. About twenty minutes go by and the woman reappears. I turn to ask her what she needs as she walks in, and she smiles and hands me a bag.)

Customer: “Here you go, dear. That should help you out!”

(I look inside and there is allergy medicine and two boxes of cold medicine!)

Me: *shocked but grateful* “Oh, wow! Thank you! You really didn’t have to!”

(I thank her profusely, but she only shakes her head and says:)

Customer: “Kindness goes a long way. We all share this place, so we should take care of each other. Get well soon, dear!”

(And with that, she gave me another smile and left. Blessed be to that kind woman. She has no idea how much she made my day and restored just a little faith.)

After living in the same suburban city in Georgia for over 25 years, I find myself relocating to Miami, Florida, for my husband’s new job. We don’t have much time to look for a place to live, so we choose an affordable apartment close to his job.

We move into a second-floor apartment in a six-story building, knowing nothing about the neighborhood. Shortly after moving in I hear the fire alarm. I go outside to discover smoke pouring from one of the sixth-floor apartments. One of the neighbors is a teenage girl, who is absolutely hysterical. She accidentally started the fire when she forgot about a pot of food she had left on the stove. She panicked and ran out of the apartment, forgetting that her father was still inside napping.

As some of the neighbors are trying to calm the girl, the father, who is a very tall, very large man, emerges from the building, a bit dazed, but unharmed. Unfortunately, he is still wearing the clothes he was napping in: a t-shirt and boxer shorts.

While my neighbors and I are waiting for the fire department to tend to the fire — the apartment is a complete loss — my next-door neighbor, who is also a very tall, very large man, comes home. He speaks to his wife, who fills him in on the situation. My next-door neighbor sees the sixth-floor dad, and then goes to his car and retrieves several shopping bags from a clothing store. He hands him the shopping bags, saying, “Here. These are for you.”

The sixth-floor dad protests that he can’t take his new clothes. The next door neighbour makes the obvious statement that he needs them more right now.

And that is how I learned what kind of neighbors I had.

(I’m working behind the counter at a bookstore. My mother and severely autistic brother have come in to check my scheduled lunch times so we can meet later. A customer comes up to the counter with a novelty cookbook, called “The Marmite Cookbook.” Marmite is extremely popular in the UK. It is a yeast extract product that you either love or hate. It has an extremely potent taste.)

Brother: “Marmite! Marmite! MARMITE!”

Customer: “I take it that you like marmite, young man?”

Brother: “MARMITE!”

Mother: “Sorry about that; he can get a bit loud when he’s excited.”

Customer: “It’s okay.” *turns to brother* “Do you want to know a secret?”

Brother: “Marmite.” *it’s one of the only three words he likes to say*

Customer: “I love marmite, too!”

(The man proceeds to open his rucksack and he pulls out a bar of chocolate.)

Customer: “Is this okay?”

(My mother nods yes, and turns over the chocolate bar. It’s a marmite chocolate bar, something I have never seen before. My brother throws himself at the man in a hug and my mother starts crying.)

Customer: “Are you okay, ma’am?”

(My mother then explained that my brother had never initiated a hug, in his life. My mum and I both blubbered like babies and thanked the man. Thank you to the kind stranger that took five minutes to speak to my brother, even though at 6’4”, loud. and autistic, people can find him intimidating!)

(I stop in the pharmacy to get some medications for my husband, who recently lost his job because of a medical condition. We were already on income support because I am physically disabled and this has been a hard hit to our income. We just found out the income support system is about to revoke our benefits unless we can prove that he does not willfully leave his job by the end of the month. With a toddler and both of us needing the medical coverage, this is terrifying. Our normal doctor is on maternity leave until January of next year and her covers won’t help us because they don’t want to deal with the system. The same story goes with every doctor we see. They all insist they need to have been seeing us for at least three months before they’ll even consider it. Neither of us have any family or support, as we were both runaways from abuse. By this point, I am counting change, trying to figure out if I have enough to get the medication we both desperately need.)

Stranger: *taps me on the shoulder* “Hey, let me get that for you.” *tries to shove a ten dollar bill in my hand*

Me: *close to tears* “Oh, no! I really can’t. Thanks, anyway.” *tries to give it back*

Stranger: “Nah, keep it. Or, hey, tell you what…” *hands me a twenty and takes the ten back* “There. Fair trade.”

(By now I was seriously crying and didn’t notice the older man’s mother coming up beside me. Gently she took me by the elbow and they both lead me away from the pharmacy counter. They started asking me questions and I admitted that we were struggling and how scared I was. They started brainstorming between the two of them and gave me numbers to doctors they trusted. They took my email and gave me their phone numbers just in case. As a last thing, they took the twenty-dollar bill, and the man shoved a bunch of money into my bag, saying he wouldn’t take no for an answer and just to pass it on when I had the chance to help someone else. I realized that yes, I needed that help right then. I stopped fighting, figuring it was at most forty bucks but would help pay my kid’s school fees. When I got home and took the money out, I was shocked to see that instead of just a small amount, he’d put five hundred dollars into my bag. That money did help keep us afloat for the next week as we paid bills. We finally found a doctor willing to help us and our income has since stabilized. I told the stranger, who is now a supporter and friend, that we’d pay him back. He refused and told me to help others, instead. I plan to.)