I was about to take the escalator at the University LRT station when I saw a blind man standing in the middle of the landing, looking lost and confused.

Without a second thought, which is unusual for me, I walked right up him and said, "Can I help you?"

He wanted to take the train to Coliseum, so I guided him down the multiple escalators to the waiting area. As we descended, he held on to my hand. I'm not at all comfortable with strangers holding on to any part of me, especially after the unsavory experience of having a grimy Indian man grab my hand at Petaling Street. I was 9 then. You can't blame me for being paranoid ever since.

Well, back to the blind man, we happened to take the same train, and during the journey I observed him to confirm that he was indeed blind. It would have been too late, but I didn't want to feel taken advantaged of.

I watched him fiddle with the wires of his headphones and rearrange his Subway cookies. He had funny eyes. My brain did its analysis and concluded , to put it crudely, that he was a genuine blind man.

Later that night, Fatty said he would give me a pat on my shoulder not so much for my kindness as for my bravery. It must be the Canadian weather getting to me, because under usual circumstances, I'd shy away from helping an unknown person, or I'd spend too much time contemplating the "hows" and "should Is" such that the moment would pass and I'd feel awkward if I offered my help.

In fact, sometimes I see people in Singapore fidgeting and getting tensed over whether they should give up their seat to the elderly on the bus or train. As if helping would make them seem like a "goody two shoes" to the extent that they'd feel embarrassed by an act of kindness.

Now springing up when I see a person who needs a seat more than me feels like second nature. I cannot explain my bout of hesitancy; I don't understand why it was there in the first place.