It doesn't cost a penny.

After a tiresome week, I decided to buy a novel, a second hand novel precisely. The most famous street in Mombasa that sells such, just close to The General Post Office. Books are always perfect ways to spend my weekends, flip over the redolent pages delighted by the sweet scents and moved by the lyrical words in perfect prose by favourite authors. I walked down with the type of liveliness and vigour. My first stop was at this guy who looked so welcoming. He offered me a seat and in no while traced one. Heartbeat, by Danielle Steel. Steel is always a sweetheart, you wouldn't blink an eye till you done, then wish it would continue to infinity. And Beyond. Maybe.

I would exhaust all seating positions, take all sips and never get bored. In no time we bargained prices, hard earned money. But I guess haggling makes businesses sweeter. Am so stubborn in this, or get feminine once or twice. Lady charms and a whole 40% off. Am sure he would not want me back, or face away when he sees me. Hahaha! What mattered most is I got the book all to myself!

So I walk around. Simply buying time, the evening snarl-up is a big bore. I get to Alexander shops and roses call me. They insist I go. The sight of roses is always a therapy. Luckily it was an evening offer for the ladies. Such a kind lass I would think.

"Ma'am, just pick any three. Its a Friday for you!"

With no second thoughts, I picked two and added a third little one on my way out. I got courteous with smiles, much obliged, then off I left for home. On my way back I wouldn't stop thinking, my weekend was made already, am much elated from the inside. My day was really made, but again, as happy as I was, I would still think of what I just received from the two interactions. They were so much on getting my happiness fattening up, less on theirs. Then it perfectly dawns, I don't know there struggles, I don't understand their pain but indirectly mine was taken care of. Who doesn't know what a good book does to the reader? Or rather how roses mean to a lady, to the decor and to the mind.

Then its clear, the sacrifices people make for other's happiness cannot be defined. They could be burning inside, tearing up with demons untold but still give the best they could. For someone's happiness. For an acquaintance's joy. They would rather pinch themselves hard, but dust up and get smiles on faces. The little gesture someone shows, could show how they're really deficient of what they give. The little they got, could also be all they got, just to see you smile, to see you light up. I would remember my late close one who made sure am to the fill then she would eat. I never realised till she was gone. On realisation that such people are very rare. I learn to appreciate the small kind gesture anyone shows. A smile is also something. A hug is another. Such things heal painful wounds, hard times get smoother. Moments will then have meaning.

Without sacrifice, we would have nothing. For the perks of it all, good gets back to us some day, but that doesn't mean you lose yourself in pleasing others. How you touch and speak a soul calms, brings meaning and translates the strong passionate personalities. It doesn't cost a shilling, but it indeed pays more, and pays alot. Great achievement is usually borne of great sacrifice and is never the result of selfishness.