A Childhood Moment That Still Guides Me

Some lessons come too early.

But they stay — shaping how you see, how you speak, and how you choose.

I was younger than ten when my grandfather taught me empathy — the difficult, political kind. The kind that asks something of you.

We lived on a plantation. The workers were always around — familiar, almost like family. I don’t even fully remember why we visited their homes. Maybe we were just playing. What I remember more clearly is the kanji — the simple rice porridge they were served at our house. And how they would still share what little they had, even with us kids.

I used to eat it with them, happily. Until one day, I mentioned it to my grandfather.
I expected a smile. Instead, he asked,
“Have you ever thought about their family?”
He said the food they offered came from limited resources. That every bite I took might mean one less for someone in their home.

I was angry. Why tell me this? Why not my cousins?

But something changed. I stopped eating. They would still call me warmly, but I stayed back — watching my cousins eat what I longed for. Feeling both envy and pride.
Envy that they could enjoy something I still wanted.
Pride that I was choosing to understand.

I even tried to explain it to my cousins. They didn’t get it — or didn’t want to.
Maybe I didn’t either, not fully. But that was the moment I began to see.

Years later, I’m often told I’m “too soft” with the women who work in our home.
Today, I was criticised for granting leave to one of them — without asking questions.
But I believe this: if my husband gets leave in his corporate job without being interrogated, why shouldn’t she?

They are entitled to at least two leaves a month. Sometimes more, if life demands it.
I don’t need a reason to respect someone’s right to rest.

Maybe it’s that childhood moment that still guides me. Maybe that bowl of kanji, that guilt, that decision to step back — it all lives quietly in me still.

Disclaimer: This piece was edited with the help of AI. But the memories, questions, and voice are entirely mine.


#empathy  #kindness #everyday ethics


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