In the library of my mind, there’s a cluttered corner I don’t often visit. When I pluck memories from my bookshelves to use as inspiration, my attention never lingers on that corner because surely it doesn’t hold anything particularly significant. But lately, I’ve grown tired of plucking from the same bookshelves. When I ventured down dusty aisles searching for new stories to tell, I wandered over to that overlooked corner again. There, I noticed a sign that said “gifts from strangers.” Multicolored boxes, some vibrant, some faded with age, lined the shelf. They each had a Sharpie-scribbled label on the side. Of course, I opened some of them to see what’s inside.
Box 1: The man
I don’t recall his face. I couldn’t tell you anything about what he was wearing, where he was going, or who he was with. All I remember is —
“I like your boots.”
His voice traveled by so quickly I almost didn’t catch it over the music in my earbuds. I muttered a hasty “thank you,” though I’m sure he didn’t hear me since he was already half a block away by then. Was he even talking to me? Maybe not. Then again, there wasn’t anyone else waiting at that stoplight, so he must have been talking to me. The moment was so quick and unexpected that I was utterly shocked. I couldn’t believe that someone, a stranger no less, noticed my beaten-up black boots and liked them enough to compliment them. His words created a warm feeling of joy in my chest that spread all the way to the corners of my mouth.
It may seem like I’m making a big deal out of this. That’s because, as a socially awkward introvert, I keep all my admiration for strangers to myself. All the awe-struck compliments about someone’s satin skirt or multicolored hair crowd together on my tongue until, every once in a while, one has enough courage to jump out into the world. I know not everyone has the same attitude. But, I still view compliments from strangers as one of the most precious kinds because of the drop of courage that comes with each one.
Compliments also usually warrant a response — a “thank you,” a smile, a reciprocated compliment or some other way to show how much you appreciate the other person’s kind words. I always tend to overthink these responses. Did my ‘thank you’ sound genuine? What should I say to compliment them back? Is smiling enough to show my appreciation, or should I say something too? When this man walked away without waiting for my reaction, I felt slightly confused but also appreciative. He didn’t expect a response. He just wanted to tell me he liked my boots. Maybe he was just in a hurry that day, but to me, his compliment was an act of kindness that did not demand or expect anything in return.
So thank you, stranger, for your gift. Your words made an average day memorable.
Box 2: The couple
“Hadestown” is a show you cry to. I should know. I cried during the entire second act. Through my tears, I saw a couple in front of me also crying. The woman was dabbing the edge of her scarf along her partner’s cheek. Her partner leaned into the touch and curled her hand around the woman’s arm, holding on tightly. To think this moment wouldn’t have happened without me.
OK, I’m giving myself a bit too much credit here, but I have my reason for making this claim. You see, I was initially supposed to sit next to the woman in the scarf. Right as I sat down, she tapped me gently on the shoulder and asked —
“Are you here by yourself?” Uh, that’s a weird question. But, since we were in a crowded theater, I figured she wasn’t going to try to kidnap me or anything like that.
“Yes, I am.”
“Would you be willing to switch seats with my partner?” she asked, gesturing towards her partner sitting in the row behind us. At first, I didn’t particularly want to. After all, I had taken the time to choose this seat for myself and didn’t want to give it up to a stranger. Plus, I didn’t want to ask the group of elderly folks at the end of the row to move so I could get to the other seat.
The woman in the scarf looked at me with a hopeful smile as I let the silence drag on. I looked at her partner, then at the older folks, then back at the woman again. You know what, it probably sucks more for them if they can’t sit next to each other.
“Yeah, I’d be OK with switching.”
The woman’s smile grew even wider. She and her partner thanked me profusely, even lamenting that they didn’t have anything to give me as a token of gratitude. I said it was no problem and gathered my belongings to move to the other seat. I’m glad I ultimately chose to switch. With my small act of kindness, I was able to gift these strangers a memorable evening. Now, whenever I think of “Hadestown,” I will remember this tender scene between the two women.
So thank you, stranger, for your gift. I am honored that my actions played a part in creating such a heartwarming moment.
Box 3: The waiter
“Here you go, sir.”
“Sir.”
Me?
The waiter was talking to me?
I was so stunned I almost forgot to say “thank you.”
He called me “sir”? I didn’t know that was possible. Did he mistake me for a cis man? No way. I’m not wearing my binder, and there’s no mask or hat hiding how round my features are. He even heard my voice and still called me sir. Is it my hair? That’s not usually enough for people to not perceive me as a girl. But maybe this time it is? Oh my god, I can’t believe I actually passed as someone who is assigned male at birth when I didn’t even try to present masculine.
I could keep recounting all the thoughts flooding my head at the time, but you get the idea. For context, this interaction happened when I had just figured out my gender identity. I had cut my hair and started dressing in more traditionally masculine clothes so that my reflection in the mirror matched how I saw myself in my head. Unfortunately, other people didn’t seem to see me that way. Most people still referred to me using feminine terms and she/her pronouns, no matter how often I corrected them.
So, I assumed that being misgendered was just going to be the norm for me. For those who don’t know what being misgendered feels like, I’m going to try my best to describe it. Think of your favorite activity — something you love and spend so much time doing that it becomes part of your identity. Now imagine every time you tell someone you do this activity, they say, “No, you don’t.” “You’re not an actor.” “You don’t play basketball.” “There’s no way you know how to code.” No matter how often you try to explain or demonstrate your skill, people continue to deny your identity.
Now imagine, after constantly interacting with people like this, you meet someone who says something different. “You must be an actor.” “Basketball must be your best sport.” “Of course, you code. Is that even a question?” After trying to convince people for so long, someone accepts this part of your identity, no questions asked. When the waiter called me “sir,” that’s what it felt like. One little word from a stranger filled me with so much joy and gender euphoria. To him, this might have been just another insignificant interaction. To me, this is a memory I will treasure for a long time.
So thank you, stranger, for your gift. You gave me hope that the world can see me the way I see myself.
—
When these interactions first happened, I didn’t think they would linger in my mind for so long. I even assumed I would eventually forget some of them. Yet, they’ve stayed in this cluttered corner this whole time. I’m glad I found them again, these gifts from strangers. It’s clear that despite not knowing any of these people, the moments I shared with them still left a lasting impression.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who has received gifts from strangers. I’m also sure I’m not the only one who has tucked these interactions away without dwelling on them much. Even if there is only one such moment, I urge you to pluck it out from its corner and give it some love and attention. After all, these gifts from strangers are memories worth treasuring and stories worth telling.
MiC Columnist Charlie Shang can be reached at shanghq@umich.edu.