A KIND SOUL

The following story was told to me by an intoxicated friend and I have no idea if it’s true or just a product of an intoxicated mind but let him narrate it:

          Around two years ago, while I was searching for a name in Facebook’s search bar, an unusual and quite an imaginative name (or pseudonym) popped up. My curiousity picked, I clicked it and I was led to its account. At first, I couldn’t tell if the owner was a male or a female. The profile pic was of a quiet river.

          The posts or statuses were most likely in private setting so there was not much to see except a lone emo Radiohead YouTube video and some statuses about  the bliss of being a loner and of being alone. And basing on that emo whinings, I presumed that the owner was a female, specifically, a girl, whose age probably hovered around 16 to 20.

          I closed the account and continued my Facebook browsing.

          Then, few weeks after that,  the name popped again while I was searching for a name and I found myself going to that account again. Not much  was changed or added to the wall except another emo Youtube video and one or two statuses about being alone but not lonely. The friends and the photos were still hidden. And oh, the profile pic river morphed into a flower in a seemingly lonely field.

          Then, more weeks or probably months passed and the account popped up again while I was searching for someone and I dove into it again.

          There were two new visible statuses, one was more than two-weeks old  and the other one, two days old.

          The summary of the more than two week-old status read: My dad was diagnosed with cancer. Please pray for him.

         There were comments telling her that they’d pray for her dad.

          The summary of the two day old-status read: We’re running out of funds. Please, help us if you have extra money. I love my dad. He is my world.

          She wrote her real name on the status and her bank account number and placed a photo of her face in the profile picture box.  My guess was right, she’s a female. She looked around 22 to 25 years old, not really that pretty but she looked okay. She had a nice, vibrant smile and her eyes glowed, like she did something mischievous and funny and she was trying to hide it but her eyes were failing her—features you’d not expect from a self-proclaimed loner.  Her skin was fair and she was lean.

          Was it a scam? Everyone knew that hustlers and scammers abound in Facebook. But I wasn’t sure. But I came back to see the account the next day, it was nearing midnight then. There was a few-hour old status and it read: Please stop sending donations, my father had died. Thank you for all the help. I wish I could thank all of you who sent help personally, even with just a smile.

          So it wasn’t a scam after all. A hustler wouldn’t stop asking for money just a day after she announced it. But didn’t she need money for the burial?  Maybe her father was the breadwinner. Or did somebody already pay for it? Her name and the bank account were still there—and I began copying it.

         The next day, I found myself depositing a small amount of money in her bank account.

         When I took another peek at her account, the status asking for donations, her name and bank account, had disappeared. An angel replaced her photo as her profile picture. The cover photo was a photo of clear, beautiful clouds.

         That would be the look of her FB wall for the next few weeks until it suddenly vanished—maybe she deactivated it or completely deleted it or she probably changed her account name.

          That’s it, I thought, she had burst like an enigmatic bubble and she wouldn’t be seen again.

          But a week ago, I was inside an LRT  coach and was on my way home, and sitting across me was a young woman in her 20s, who I slowly realized largely resembled the woman in the Facebook account I followed (although not officially; I didn’t even bother adding her)for some time. She was wearing  a shirt (she seemed leaner and looked haggard and tired and sad) that bore the logo of a popular doughnut brand.

          She caught me staring at her and she smiled shyly at me and instantly looked away. Her eyes, at times, turning vacant. The sparks had vanished. But she seemed a kind soul. She stood up when the train reached the  next station and went out—it was raining and I din't notice if she had an umbrella with her— and disappeared while I remained seated, almost convinced that it was really the woman on that Facebook account

          I checked her Facebook account when I got home and saw that it still was missing.

          “I wish I could thank all of you who sent help  personally, even with just a smile.”

          She did just that to me.

          I sighed, logged out of FB then I opened my music files and played The Beatles’ Eleanor Rigby. 

          It still was raining.