My thoughts often wander back to yesterdays, to people I’ve met in brief encounters during life’s journey, people with whom I have felt and continue to feel a kinship in my heart, people I know I will never see again. I remember them because we connected in moments of kindness or joy, maybe even sorrow — ways that touched my soul.
With people who are a part of life for a short while, there can be an openness, a sense of safety and freedom, an ease in revealing inner thoughts. Maybe knowing our shared views and feelings are protected, by what soon will be a permanent separation, opens the human spirit and allows us to speak honestly and freely and to be who we really are — our authentic selves. From such encounters, strangers have become my friends. I have learned about different cultures and beliefs, and I have shared about mine. I have heard heartbreaking personal stories as well as happy ones, and I have spoken of my own. I have come to understand that we all have commonalities of the spirit, regardless of where our lives begin or end.
I remember meeting a kind-hearted steward a few weeks after my brother’s death many years ago. I was aboard a ship somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. My grief was overwhelming and inconsolable. I spent long hours in the stateroom experiencing the intractable pain that comes with loss of a loved one. The steward, who was from the Philippines, often came in to service the room; and during those times we talked about the relentless heartache that comes with forever goodbyes. The day of my brother’s birthday came, and I asked the steward if he would get some flowers for me. Later that day I went to the aft deck and tossed the beautiful arrangement into the sea, wishing I could be with my brother to celebrate the day he was born and knowing I would never again on earth see him, never again wish him happy birthday.
When I turned around, I saw the steward standing quietly off to the side, his head bowed. I had not told him why I wanted the flowers. Somehow he knew. His presence embodied the universal human threads of goodness, caring, and love of family. Although I don’t remember his name or any details about his life, I will never forget the spiritual union we shared.
There is another memorable person who often returns to my thoughts, a young man named Tapin, pronounced Top’in. This is his story.
My roommate and I entered the cabin that would be our home for the next thirty-one days. We could see Table Mountain through the veranda windows that framed one wall of our stateroom. Soon we would leave behind Cape Town where we had spent three days enjoying the beauty of that historic and geographically beautiful place and appreciating its significance in the development of the world. Our spirits were filled with excitement for the days stretching out in front of us. Jackson, the place we both call home, was far, far away.
Our ship, the Oceania Nautica, first would take us northward with stops along the eastern coast of South Africa, then easterly across the Indian Ocean to the Seychelles, the Maldives, the Laccadive Sea, Sri Lanka, the Bay of Bengal, the Andaman Sea, Thailand, Malaysia, and ending in Singapore, where we had plans for a Singapore Sling at Raffles.
While we were exploring the cabin and waiting for the luggage to arrive, the door opened and a young, handsome man neatly dressed in a traditional butler`s suit entered the room. He seemed to grasp immediately every detail of our situation with his penetrating dark eyes.
In a quiet voice with a British accent, he introduced himself. “My name is Tapin. I will take care of your needs and wishes while you are aboard. I and my associates will be available to you twenty-four hours a day.”
He confirmed our names and then said, “Your luggage should arrive shortly. Is there anything I can do for you now?”
During our journey, this young man became more than someone assigned to our cabin. He noticed if we weren’t feeling well and made sure we had soup, or whatever we wanted to eat, delivered to the room. He remembered in detail the foods we liked and served them to us on those nights we chose to eat in our cabin instead of going to the dining room. He learned our routines and worked with housekeeping to accommodate our needs. He kept us supplied with the particular items we enjoyed on a daily basis. He was interested in our lives, our heritage, and the homes we had left behind. We were equally interested in his.
I learned that his home was near New Delhi, India. He was married with two young sons. His parents lived several hours away. He had been an employee with Regents and Oceania cruise ships since 2012 and was appreciative of his job and the good life his work allowed him to have. I thought of his long days caring for myriad travelers and his being away from home for months at a time; and I was in awe of his humility and his grateful spirit. He spoke often of his wife who worked in the hospitality business in New Delhi. She and her mother were taking care of the home and the children. He realized that as his sons grew older, his constant presence in their lives would be needed and his life at sea would end.
He talked daily with his wife, children, and parents. His father always asked two questions: “Son, have you been honest with everyone you met today?” and “Are you at peace with everyone you met today?”
Tapin always answered “Yes, Papa” to both questions. He did not, could not, end his day without assuring his father he had been honest and was at peace with everyone—every day.
Tapin became much more than the person assigned to our cabin. He invaded our hearts with his perceptive, kind spirit; his caring that went beyond his required duties; his honesty; and his basic sense of goodness.
On the night before we left the ship, he stopped by to make sure we had everything we needed for our morning departure. His last words that evening were, “I will see you in the morning, Madams.”
We expected he would stop by our room early, but he did not. As we closed the door of our stateroom for the last time, I thought it was better that we didn`t see him for a final farewell. Saying a last good- bye to this fine young man would not be easy. The memory of his kindness, and the care he showed us would be intertwined forever in the moments of our journey.
As we were walking away from our room, in the distance we saw someone running toward us. It was Tapin. “I am sorry I am late, Madams. I was helping another passenger who needed a wheelchair.”
He walked with us to the elevator. Standing tall and straight, he held the door open for us. As we stepped inside to go down to the disembarkation area, he bowed as we waved a last good-bye. I watched with misty eyes as the door slowly closed. I knew I would never see Tapin again in this life. I also knew he was a God-given blessing.
I often think of the two questions Tapin’s father asked him every day, and I asked myself the same. There is comfort in the soul when honesty and peace prevail. I wish I could tell Tapin’s parents, his wife, his children, and those who employ him that he lives his life with honesty and kindness; that he goes the extra mile and expects nothing in return; that his spirit is authentic, sensitive, and caring; and that we, among many before and after us, were blessed by his presence.
A Filipino, an Indian, and a Mississippi Delta American — three people from different countries with different native languages, customs, and beliefs — met at sea for a brief moment in time. Some might say the encounters were by chance or good fortune. I believe they were orchestrated by God’s Holy Hand with His Holy Spirit guiding us in kindness and, without seeing our differences, uniting us in the universal threads of goodness, love of family and friends, honesty, and peace.
