I’m the kind of girl who carries one of those microwaveable takeout containers in her bag filled with kibbles–yep, the dry dog food variety, because I like to feed strays.
I’m the kind of girl who would actually spend half an hour prying an errant house lizard off a rat glue pad, dousing the reptile with cooking oil as a final rite of freedom.
I realize that in most of my lifetime, especially these recent years, I have been kind to animals but cruel to myself.
I have been a pushover.
While most of my family will disagree, my eldest sister especially, I am actually a pushover. Though I agree that I probably am the most opinionated of the lot, I have actually done myself a great disservice by allowing all types of obligations–corporate, family, and otherwise–to subjugate my personal dreams and aspirations.
Animals, stray dogs especially, have earned a special place in my heart, because they are desperately in need, and when you fill that need, they’re grateful. They don’t have any other agenda and power to return the favor, and for that reason, showing them kindness becomes a noble act in that you don’t get anything in return. No flattery and accolades. The work is unheralded yet rewarding.
It’s different with people. There’s always a hidden motive behind every action. They suck you dry. Somehow, it has dawned on me that while I am the kind of girl who wants to help out in whatever way she can, I also want to be that kind of girl who shows kindness to herself.