It was a quiet morning out on the ferry, just the usual hum of the engines and a bunch of guys getting their fishing rods ready. I was just sitting there, half-asleep, when I noticed her—a young girl in a bright pink fleece, sitting all by herself with nothing but a backpack and a big blue water bottle.
She smiled at me when our eyes met. Not shy, not nervous. Just… calm. Like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
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I couldn’t help it. After a few minutes, I asked, “Hey, are you traveling with someone?”
She shook her head and grinned wider. “Nope. I’m going to see my abuelitos.”
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Turns out her name was Mariela. She was only eleven, but she spoke with this steady confidence that caught me off guard. Her mom had saved up for months to get her a ticket to spend the summer with her grandparents across the bay. Work had been too crazy for her mom to take time off, but Mariela didn’t seem bitter about it. She was proud—like this was her little adventure.
I asked if she was excited about her trip, and her face lit up with an answer that made me smile. “Oh, yeah! I haven’t seen them in so long. They live in a little house by the beach, and I’m going to help my abuelita with her garden. She grows the best tomatoes, and I love picking them when they’re all ripe. I’ve been dreaming about this for months!”
Her excitement was contagious, and I found myself listening more intently than I had expected. There was something about the way she talked—so innocent, yet so full of determination—that struck me. She wasn’t just a little girl on a boat; she was on a journey of her own, a young traveler with a purpose, even if it was as simple as spending time with family.
“So, how long has it been since you’ve seen them?” I asked, curious to know more about her life.
Mariela’s smile faltered for just a second, but it was enough for me to catch it. “About a year. My mom said we couldn’t visit last summer because she couldn’t get time off work, and before that, we were saving up for the boat tickets.”
I didn’t push any further. I could tell there was more to the story, but I didn’t want to intrude. Instead, I smiled and nodded, thinking about my own summers when I was her age—carefree and full of possibility.
The ferry ride was only about an hour, but we spent the whole time chatting. She told me stories about her abuelos and the life they lived on the beach, painting pictures with words of their small, humble house surrounded by flowers, fruit trees, and the scent of fresh saltwater. She described how her abuelito would tell her stories about the sea, and how her abuelita always made her favorite dishes—sopes and tamales—with such care that they always tasted better than anything else.
As we neared the dock, Mariela’s excitement seemed to grow. She leaned forward, eyes wide, scanning the horizon like she could already see her grandparents’ house waiting for her.
“Do you think they’ll be there to meet you?” I asked.
Mariela nodded confidently. “I’m sure of it. They promised. And even if they aren’t, it’s okay. I’ll just walk there. I know the way.”
When the ferry finally docked, I gathered my things, ready to leave, but Mariela stayed seated for a moment longer. She was gazing out at the pier, her fingers wrapped around the strap of her backpack. There was something a little more serious about her expression now, and it made me pause.
“Are you okay?” I asked, not sure what had changed.
She turned to me, her eyes still soft, but there was a hint of something more now—something like uncertainty. “Yeah, just… it’s just that… I haven’t seen my mom in a while. She’s been working so much. I know she tries, but sometimes it feels like I’m not that important. Like she doesn’t have time for me.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected. I had known she was traveling alone, but hearing her talk about her mom in that way—like she wasn’t as important as work—suddenly felt heavier. It was as if all the joy she had about her trip was masking a deeper sadness that she was too young to fully express.
I took a breath, trying to think of what to say. “You know, sometimes people get caught up in work, and they forget to make time for the people who matter most. But that doesn’t mean you’re not important to them. I’m sure your mom loves you more than anything. She probably just doesn’t know how to juggle everything.”
Mariela looked up at me, and for a brief moment, I saw the vulnerability of a child who had been carrying too much weight on her small shoulders. “I hope so,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the sound of the ferry’s engine as it powered down.
I wished I could say more to reassure her, but before I could, she stood up and adjusted her backpack, quickly wiping a small tear from her eye. “Well, this is it! Time to see them!” She flashed me a bright smile again, one that made my heart ache in the most beautiful way. She was stronger than most adults I knew.
As I watched her walk away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to her story than what she had shared with me. I knew she wasn’t just a little traveler on a boat—she was someone who had learned to navigate a world that didn’t always give her the love and attention she deserved.
The twist came a few weeks later. I had almost forgotten about that brief encounter, until I received a message from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a text from Mariela’s mom.
“Hi, this is Mariela’s mom. I just wanted to thank you for being kind to her on the ferry that day. She’s been struggling with some things, and I think your conversation really helped her. She’s been so excited to talk about her trip and about you. It meant more than I can express.”
The message hit me harder than I could have expected. I had barely said anything that seemed important, but apparently, it had meant something to Mariela. I thought about how often we underestimate the power of simple kindness—how a brief, casual conversation can impact someone’s life, even in the smallest ways.
As I sat with that thought, another text came through. This one was a photo—a picture of Mariela, smiling wide as she held a bouquet of flowers, standing next to her grandparents by the ocean. It was a picture full of love and peace, the kind that told the story of a little girl who had finally found her place in the world.
The message that followed was simple, but it meant more than any material gift ever could:
“Thank you again. Mariela’s doing better. She feels like she’s finally important, like she matters. You helped her find that.”
It was then that I understood the karmic twist—sometimes, even when we think we’re only giving a little, we might be giving exactly what someone else needs. We often forget how much our words, actions, and presence can mean to someone, especially when they’re carrying the weight of things we don’t see.
I smiled at the message, feeling a warmth that was deeper than any gratitude I’d received before. It wasn’t about the big things—it was about the little moments where you choose to be present, where you choose to give someone a moment of kindness, and where that moment can change everything for them.
So, if you’ve ever doubted the power of a simple gesture or conversation, remember Mariela’s story. You might just be giving someone the strength they didn’t know they needed. And you never know, it might be the start of something bigger than you could imagine.
Please share this story if it resonates with you. It’s the small moments that count. Let’s spread a little more kindness in the world
