Tim from Isle of Skye
I fell in love with human race.
It happened while I was solo backpacking for the very first time on an island called Isle of Skye in Scotland.
I still vividly remember the details of that day; my feet swelling under the unforgiving weight of my pack, my legs threatening to give at the very next step, my back oh my back. I still cringe at the surreal realness of the pain to this day.
My right thumb had developed an automated reflex to shoot up at the sound of anything remotely close to a motor engine approaching my way. Numerous cars zoomed past me, each car towing away my desperate hopes of saviour-on-wheels along with it. After what felt like an eternity, a car which could’ve fit no more than 1.5 persons slowly came to a stop next to me. At this point, I was willing to fold myself into that .5 of a person just to give my poor old feet some relief. The window came rolling down and the saint revealed himself. Or so I thought.. He is sorry that he can’t take me to where I need to go because he is on his way to an appointment but he wishes me luck. He reluctantly drove off leaving a bigger disappointment than the one he found me in. Dusk was setting in, i was famished, at the end with fatigue, and now I’ve killed a man in my head. Twice.
What else to do but to keep going? One foot after the other, twenty mins felt like twenty years. Not one car passed, each step a step towards an endless abyss when I realized the unspoken rule of the remote island, lights off at sunset! I fell into a trance-like state (walking zombie mode), devoid of any purposeful consciousness. That’s when I saw my last ray of hope, headlights!! It was approaching me from the direction I was heading. The car slowly halted to a stop. This too was a car made for 1.5 persons. I excitedly ran across the lane. Down came the window and the saint revealed himself. Imagine my confusion when the revealed face was the very saint who i’ve killed twice (in my head) just twenty mins before! This time he gave me a big smile and insisted I get in the car. Without a moment’s hesitation, my pack straps were undone, my pack came flying off my hunched shoulders and thrown in the tiny car with my tired body. The state of euphoria my body entered will never see a proper depiction. I melted into the seat, every cell of my body in awe of the luxury of a modern chair. It took a good minute before my muscles eased up despite its skepticism at such sudden comfort.
We begin by introducing ourselves. Was it the close proximity in a confined space or was it that he was a god-send in time of desperation? Maybe the combination of all, conversation flowed with no trace of reservation and such ease. In the midst of our open exchange, we approached my destination all too soon. As naturally as we opened up in conversation, we said our goodbyes. Heavy packs back on my shoulders but yet lighter, my foot planted back on soil but yet lighter, and most of all, the darkness that consumed me seemed yet lighter.
When I look back now, encounters of this sort were the ones that left the deepest imprint. Coincidental with no conditions, straight from the goodness of heart.
His name was Tim. Oh Tim was a good man. After having left me, he felt so wretched that he drove to his appointment only to cancel and raced back in hopes of finding me again. He wasn’t a fellow backpacker, he’s never travelled a day of his life with a pack on his shoulders. He didn’t know my story, not my aches, not my pains. He said he didn’t need to. It was only his duty to help.
Tim, a stranger from a strange land, you have taught me what makes the world so beautiful. And that is, unequivocally, compassion.
