Strangers or collectively vulnerable?

I work as a translator. A job which I took on to make ends meet and support my family financially. I thought I would get extra income from the side job, but it gave me back so much more – things I can never put a price on. In the last 7 years I have done this job, it has taught me so much about compassion, how powerful a small act of kindness can be and how language is so much more than spoken words.  

I have been in so many different environments due to my role. Medical appointments, accompanying people to life changing surgeries, seeing elderly people as they try to understand decisions being made about their care, witnessing heartbreaking domestic violence cases and seeing how much of a difference some extra attention can make to a child delayed in their speech and language.

Growing up I stepped into the provider role for my family even before I realised what the word meant. For most of my life, I have been a fixer and a problem solver. Adamant that if there is a problem there must be a solution and we just need to look hard enough for it without giving up. But this job challenged that. It forced me to start listening – just to understand. It showed me that sometimes what’s needed is not a solution but comfort and reassurance.  

This job has shown me just how collectively vulnerable we all are. We often hear that we all bleed the same colour but I’ve come to see that we also feel the same. Most of us won’t show it openly but in small, quiet ways our need to be seen and understood is always there. 

It has been hard to witness some of these cases and time and time again as I have found myself shed tears for “strangers”, it has allowed me to realise that in some ways we are united by emotions. We just don’t realise how much. And there is nothing more powerful than simply saying to someone “I have been through that and I understand you.”

Nowhere has this collective vulnerability shown itself more clearly to me than in hospitals. Hospitals always hit me the hardest. There is an unshakable feeling which comes with the calm. A place which itself has held so many emotions – pain, grief, joy, powerlessness, sadness, disappointment, new life but also end of life. 

The looks of exhausted staff who still turn up every day to go above and beyond in their job despite being under-appreciated. The knowledge of top surgeons and consultants who have read the books but now have to find the words to explain the inevitable to hopeful families. The kindness of strangers who will recognise and respond to your look of confusion as you try and find your way around and those just simply passing by offering a warm knowing smile to you.

I’ve tried many times to try and explain the feeling. But perhaps it is not a place which can be explained. Maybe it serves as a reminder that life is uncertain, and control of situations, people, places and emotions is often an illusion. In letting go we place our trust in the unknown – and hope lives in the unknown.