The Mustard Seed Effect

It never fails to amaze me how something so simple can turn profound simply like that. Think of going to the wash room and bumping into Hillary Clinton, or discovering that the candidate you voted for won by a single, nail-biting ballot. Call it the “Mustard Seed” effect --- how something so small and seemingly insignificant can actually turn out to be huge.

Who knew I was going to experience that today?

I went to the beauty salon this morning to get my regular manicure and pedicure. Funnily enough, I was actually due for one since Sunday but just never bothered to go there until four days later. It started out typically --- bringing along Glamour to refer to that shade of pale peach I’ve been itching to try (which they didn’t have anything close to, by the way), waiting for a manicurist to be available, pestering Ate Lynn (from Dipolog) with how to say things in Bisaya. I was in “deep” (more like, annoying!) conversation with her when it happened.

A slim, short, soft-spoken old woman sat in the chair next to me. She told Ate Lynn that the newly-applied onyx dye slightly irritated her. My manicurist simply smiled and whispered something to her fellow Bisaya colourist, Mel, to take care of the itch after she gets her nails done. Then, the woman next to me asked Ate Lynn about her sons back in Dipolog, to which she replied that they’re fine, but that she misses them to bits. She then turned to me and asked me where my mother was. I told her that she was at home, recuperating from a slight fever. That was when, with a slight quiver in her voice, she told us her story.

Her daughter, Marie, has always been quite an independent girl. So, upon graduation, she decided to move to New York to pursue her career and her Master’s degree. It had been quite difficult for her, but she knew this is what Marie wanted. So, with a heavy heart, she watched her daughter leave her. Many Christmases were spent with at least an hour on the webcam to see if her little girl was all right. These few hours meant so much to Carmencita (the mother) for in those hours, it’s as if Marie never left Manila, and she was with her, celebrating Christmas as a family. Despite the distance, she was still there.

Then, one morning --- one simple, unassuming morning --- her entire world was rocked. Marie told her mother that she was going to see a plastic surgeon to have a birthmark removed. Carmencita warned her daughter about the dangers of the operation, but Marie told her mother to trust her on this decision, anyway it was a simple procedure. Little did Carmencita know that this was the last time she’d hear her daughter’s voice. The plastic surgeon Marie entrusted to remove her birthmark turned out to be a fraud and to cover up the botched surgery, the “doctor” dumped her body in a lake. It took a lot of courage, and money to send her body back to the Philippines to give Marie a proper burial. That was seven Christmases ago.

Her story was so riveting, so gripping that I knew I just had to do something, give something to this woman anguished from retelling the story of her daughter’s death. But what? My parents gave me just enough to cover the manicure plus a tip. I couldn’t even give her a hug at the time because my right hand was getting painted. So, I gave her the only thing I could at the time --- my ears. I intently listened to her stories about her daughter, how she (Carmencita) got married at 21 and how I should not follow her example (Don’t worry, Tita. I plan to marry at 30!), and how I should love everyone around me. I also told her about my family when I was asked. It wasn’t much, but for some reason, it was enough to make her smile, and making her smile, made me do so too.

Even the simplest gestures can produce immense amounts of happiness. It’s just up to us to utilise those small things for others. As they say, great things come from small packages. All you need to do is to write some other name than yours for the recipient.