Galina T. (ESE)

In a TV interview, I heard the following about emotional people: "What is the purpose of emotional people? Picture a crowd passing by—gray, joyless, gloomy... Someone has to stir them up, cheer them up, or even give them a little nudge, after all..."

And right then, I thought, "Oh my God! That’s me! That’s what I’m here for! And all this time I've been wondering, 'Why on earth am I so emotional?!!'"

If there is no one for me to help, I don’t know what the point of living is.

And whatever I do in life, the most important part of it is giving. Taking for myself? I just don't feel any inner joy in that. Living for others—now that is true happiness! I completely dissolve in the joy of caring for people. Sometimes I can feel that my care is weighing someone down or getting in their way, and I make a conscious effort to step back.

Seeing that I can help and choosing not to is very hard for me.

I don’t even know how it happens, but if I stand near someone for just a little while, I can sense their physical well-being. At that moment, a warm, tender feeling of empathy—even love for the sick person—switches on inside me, and my conscience kicks in, too.

I would feel ashamed to just walk away and not help; I feel compelled to jump into action to save them. Inside, a voice says, "I know exactly how to treat them!" And I often start doing just that. If it's my immediate family, I "corral" them into bed and strictly make sure they stay there and rest. Meanwhile, deep down, I sometimes even rejoice that the hour for my masterful work has come, while on the other hand, my heart breaks with pity for their physical ailments. All these passions brew and bubble inside me. But my antenna—my body—keenly feels every change in the patient's condition. And the moment I feel they are getting better, an avalanche of warmth and happiness floods out of me, and I just know they will recover.

And it’s not just people I heal—it’s even aquarium fish. Once, I walked into the room and saw our favorite catfish floating belly up. In an instant, a wave of pity pierced right through me—in a split second, my body felt completely helpless, and inside, I felt guilty, guilty that he had died. It was evening, so I didn't throw the fish out and left it until morning. When I came back the next day, he was swimming happily, begging for food...

Or, when I'm walking down the street and see a tree with a broken branch, my imagination immediately saws it off, making a clean cut, paints over it, trims a few smaller twigs, and makes the canopy bright and the tree itself joyful and beautiful.

Or take another situation: a section of a lawn has been trampled, and tall weeds are growing there. In my mind, the trampled patch is dug up and reseeded with new grass, the grass grows, and I "actually see" the entire lawn green and weed-free... That’s how it is in nature.

But it happens in stores, too, for example. I'll walk into a hypermarket and see scattered shopping baskets left behind by customers—my imagination instantly stacks them neatly together. And when I approach the product shelves, I "rearrange" everything into perfect order.