Agape: Universal Love

Agape is one of the Ancient Greek words for love- specifically, universal love, such as the love for strangers, nature, or God. I was introduced to the term this morning by a dear friend after expressing my post-charity happiness over our Monday tradition of 8am coffee before lab/work. There is something profoundly uplifting, perhaps somewhat euphoric, about carrying out an unselfish act of good, however small it may be. I believe that I am still in a state of 'helper's high' under the spell of yesterday's events. Even though the normal me would be panicking at my fast-approaching thesis deadline, I feel surprisingly calm, and in a better physical and mental state.

Ever since hearing about the national Believe and Do Good campaign, I have been waiting for the month of February in pure anticipation. Organising different activities with fellow members of the community, getting together to carry out small acts of kindness for the welfare of others, especially vulnerable people, will undoubtedly be an unforgettable experience. Our visit to a residential home in North-East London yesterday afternoon, and the beautiful soul with whom I had the privilege to converse has made the journey even more inspirational for me.

We started preparing for the day from the night before by organising the rose tags seen above. Our aim was to leave the residents with a positive message, and thus, what better sayings than those said by the prophet (pbuh) himself? With this thought in mind, we searched and selected hadiths, alongside some of Rumi's sayings, and other inspirational figures such as Muhammad Ali. Our Sunday started early with fresh-rose shopping, followed by some top-quality florist arrangements alongside other skilful volunteers. We then headed over to Wanstead in the afternoon, with roses in our hands and smiles on our faces...

I was familiar with the layout of a typical residential home from previous voluntary work, yet I could not help but notice the darkness in the home. The windows were very small, and the furniture inside were also of darker tones. I could feel the stillness, see the lack of interest and care on the faces of the nurses, as well as the inquisitive glances of the elderly. In the communal rooms, many elderly patients sat next to each other on adjacent armchairs. We arrived during their tea time, which all of those who were capable of self-feeding appeared to enjoy. After walking around the ground floor giving my roses to a few of the residents, one of the nurses gave me a box of jelly babies to offer the residents as a treat. The excitement in their response, from their cheeky grins to some of them asking for second and third sweets reminded me of little children. How ironic it is to have lived your whole life- gone through the cycle of growing up, getting an education, getting a job, having a family, becoming retired- to end up as helpless and vulnerable as when you were a toddler in need of parental care.

While walking around the small TV room holding the box of jelly babies to all the residents, one lady in particular grabbed my attention. Whereas the other residents all looked up in delight at the sweets in an innocent child-like manner, she said 'no thank you dear' in the most self-assured tone. Her speech was not slurred, nor did she have any food stains on her pastel pink blouse. She wore smart lilac trousers beneath, and the funkiest frame of white glasses (reminded me of my own vintage pair!). Someone had already given her a rose, but had not read the tag. She asked me to read what was written on the tag, which I did. She had the Rumi quotation which I had found beautiful the night before:

'There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.

There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled...'

Just as the same thoughts had gone through my mind the night before, she exclaimed: 'Oh that is beautiful!' We then began talking about literature and the importance of reading, and that, is how I ended up spending the entire visit speaking to the same person: dearest Janet.

After finding out that I am a postgraduate student studying cancer, she started telling me her own story, and how she could not go to university because she had to look after her father who became very unwell after the war. Although her consequences were challenging, she managed to educate herself by reading. She read about sociology, philosophy, anthropology, and never stopped her quest for knowledge. While talking about literature and our common love of reading, Janet also gave me a quotation to take away in return: 'Live as if you were to die tomorrow, learn as if you were to live forever' by Gandhi. She told me to keep studying, and to keep being the 'lovely young lady' that I apparently am. Yes, my eyes welled up multiple times during our conversation, but I was particularly upset when she told me how some of the carers in the residential home were not 'caring' at all. She said she felt like a doll and was spoken to as if she was incapable of understanding them. When telling this so-called carer that she knew they had a difficult job but that it would not hurt them to be kinder, they laughed at her. Swallowing my angry tears back, I simply listened. That was clearly what Janet, among many others in the home needed, to be listened to.

After an hour's conversation with her, it was not difficult to tell that she is an incredibly intelligent woman with her memory very much intact. I told her this, and could not help but notice the look of quiet happiness on her face. Janet never married, so has no children to visit her, only her nephew and his wife. A woman as bright, polite, and caring as her deserves to be shown love and respect. A woman who spent her entire womanhood looking after sick people- first her father, then her mother, and finally her older sister who passed away from cancer- deserves to receive respectable care. She at least deserves to receive visitors to listen to her inspirational talk. I asked if I was allowed to come back to see her, and she said she would like that very much. When I sadly had to leave, she gave me her hand for a handshake, but I could not resist asking if I could have a hug instead. That quiet look of happiness came across her face again, and the faintest of smiles, and I held her frail, slim body in a genuine embrace. That, I believe, is the definition of love: agape.