To the left and right of me are neighbors who are so nice.

One lady neighbor often rises early in the morning of snowy days to also clear my driveway of snow with her snow blower. When I insist that she stop, she will still proceed since she says she just loves to do it for me. Because of her ceaseless desire, I will cut my sleep short just to beat her since I don’t want to continue feeling bad and indebted. I will not be surprised if she wins by a minute.

Her husband recently got a riding lawn mower. Being neighborly too, he drives over my front and back yards after he neatly does theirs. And since I also don’t want to continue feeling bad and indebted, I’ll beat him to it by shearing my own grass, way before he comes home from work. I’ll lose, if he calls in sick.

My other neighbors are also just as nice.

Only recently I failed to roll back the empty trash bins that were emptied out on a Monday pickup. Suffering from coronavirus-related listlessness, I left the empty bins untouched for days. However, on Thursday of that week I noticed that they disappeared from the roadside. It wasn’t until a few days later when I found out from my gentleman neighbor that his wife rolled the empty trash bins back to where I stored them. I requested him to thank her for me.

His wife is such a sweetheart who never fails to say “Hello!” whenever she sees me. Oh, and she never forgets to put a box of homemade Christmas cookies in my mailbox.

He is nice too. He sometimes mows or rakes the leaves off my side yard which adjoins theirs.

Yes, my neighbors to the left and right of me are indeed very nice!

Besides the sincere “Thank you!” and/or warm hugs for being obliging, I show my gratitude by whipping up kitchen favorites.

A batch of piping-hot banana/whole wheat muffins or crunchy granola bars does the trick. And, if I have all the right ingredients, a plate of sesame seed oil/ginger-flavored shrimps/asparagus in creamy chicken gravy over steamed rice is what I graciously offer.

One time, I gave my lawn-mower/snow-blower couple a plate of my delicious shrimp/asparagus dish.

“Oh, this looks delicious!” the wife exclaimed with a surprise look on her face since it was the first time that I gave them this dish.

“Where’s the rice?” the husband interrupted.

“Oh, I am sorry. There’ll be some next time,” I replied after the initial shock of hearing such a question.

“Did he say that because he thought I made an Asian dish? Was he trying to be funny? Should I be insulted by the inquiry?” I thought to myself as I cut through their empty lot which separated our houses.

Fortunately, as I got back in my house, the inner questions about possible racial undertones were replaced by a fulfilling sense of contentment.

Yes, my neighbors are hospitable too!

The mower-raker/Christmas-cookie couple invited me one-time to join them in their backyard gathering. I told them that I’d try, but something got in the way that prevented me from doing so.

The lawn-mower/snow-blower couple always has a summer party to which I am invited.

The first time I attended, I showed up with a homemade dish. I entered through their back door with my Filipino adobo and placed it on a spread of goodies.

“Are you the hired cook?” the neighbors’ guest asked as I eased my dish into a table space.

“No” I sheepishly said, mildly amused by the so-sudden flippant question sans introductions.

After giving her a quick look, I walked to try to mingle. As I scanned the sea of faces, all I saw were Caucasians. No one else who looked like me was there.

The I-don’t-belong-here feeling enveloped me. I suddenly felt out of place. The hired-cook question enhanced that sense of inferiority.

I quietly slipped out of the party after making a feeble attempt to acknowledge introductions to friends/family by my neighbors.

Safe in my house, I wondered why I still felt such estrangement after decades of being in the United States. One would think that I had by then already accepted and embraced my uniqueness which, so far, had created fruitful contributions, initiated meaningful relations, and posed a promise in the future. Would have I stayed longer, had there been someone else who looked like me? In retrospect, was the uneasiness the exact reason why I didn’t join my sideyard-mower-raker/Christmas-cookie couple’s backyard gathering?

I sat at my computer desk, pounding on the keyboard as I occasionally watched the summer party going on through my window.

I enjoyed some of the spare Filipino adobo for dinner.

I doubt that the routines between my neighbors and me would change. Well, on second thought, there may not be hugs anymore, and the swapping of edibles maybe tempered somewhat.

However, the comfort with them will undoubtedly continue, as long as, there is the physical distance and the exchange short and quick. My insecurities will not be challenged.

I am sure I will be invited to this year’s lawn-mower/snow-blower couple’s summer party and will again excuse myself.

But if I happen to see that are-you-the-hired-cook lady through my window, I’ll definitely attend.

I will go up to her and say:
“Yes, and I also do windows!”