I had to admit something. That my world, somewhere along the line, had lost its color. It wasn't a sudden thing. More like a slow fade, the kind you don't notice until you wake up one day and realize you're living in a black-and-white movie from the 1940s. My apartment, 4B, was the entire set of that movie. The window looked out onto a city that was just… gray. Gray buildings, gray sidewalks, gray cars filled with gray people. The sounds were gray, too. A dull, constant hum that was the background track of my life, which mostly consisted of coding for a company that probably thought I was a bot, and getting everything from groceries to toothpaste delivered to my door. The door was the edge of my world. Then came the knock. It wasn't the usual tap-and-run of a delivery. This was a frantic, messy rhythm. A 'human' knock. My heart did a kickflip against my ribs. I tried to ignore the sound. But It came again, louder this time, punctuated by a shaky voice. "Hello? Please? Anyone's here?" I cracked the door, my body hidden behind it, leaving a gap just wide enough for one of my eyes. It was Mrs. Henderson from 4A, a woman I'd only ever seen as a blur of floral print and white hairs. Now, her face was crumpled with panic, her eyes wide and wet, looking pitiful. "It's Jasper," she said, her voice thin and choked. "My cat. He must have slipped out. I can't find him anywhere." My brain, my very logical and anxious brain, had a simple response: 'Not your problem. Close the door.' But Mrs. Henderson had come even at my almost always closed door for her cat. And now her wrinkled eyes were looking at me. And her panic, it was so… colorful. Yes. A vibrant, terrifying red in my muted gray world. "I'll… keep an eye out," I mumbled, which was a lie ofcourse as my logical brain had won. "Could you just help me check the stairwell?" she pleaded. "My knees aren't what they used to be, dear." The stairwell. The concrete monster in which I hadn't set foot for six months. 'No, I can't do that.' I thought. But the look on her face….was really something. I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was her panic. Or maybe I was just tired of the gray. I nodded. The hallway felt like a mile-long tunnel. Every creak of the floorboards was a cannon blast. But Mrs. Henderson was there, shuffling beside me, her face filled with worry was somehow affecting me. We checked the stairwell. Top to bottom. No Jasper. I felt a genuine pang of disappointment. And something else, too. A weird, shaky sense of pride. I had left my apartment. I had faced my monster. Back in 4B, the gray seemed… less gray. But I still couldn't settle. I kept picturing that little ginger cat, lost and scared. Then I found myself at the window, but I wasn't just staring at the city. I was scanning. Searching for a tiny patch of orange. Mrs. Henderson had mentioned he loved sunning himself by the big green dumpster in the alley. The alley. That meant the lobby. The main entrance. 'Outside'. My hands started to tremble. It was one thing to face the stairwell with a guide. It was another to walk out into the whole world. Alone. But the image of Mrs. Henderson's face wouldn't leave me. So, I put on my shoes. The journey to the front door was an epic saga. My heart hammered out a frantic drum solo. But I did it. I pushed the heavy glass door open. And the sound hit me. It wasn't the gray hum I had expected. It was… everything. A car horn blared, sharp and yellow. A kid shrieked with laughter, a splash of pink. A bus hissed its brakes, a deep, rumbling blue. I'd forgotten the world had so many different noises. And there, behind the dumpster, was a flash of orange. Jasper. He was tangled in some old kite string, looking very sorry for himself. Carrying him back, I felt like a soldier returning after victory. Mrs. Henderson's sob of relief when she saw him was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. She hugged me, a real, solid hug that smelled like cinnamon and tea. It was the first time someone had touched me in almost a year. "You have to come in," she insisted. "I've just made tea." The old me, the gray me, would have made an excuse. But the me standing in the colorful, noisy hallway, with cat hair on his shirt? She said yes. Sitting in her cluttered, cozy apartment, with a purring cat on my lap and a warm mug in my hands, I looked out her window. It was the same view as mine. But from here, the city wasn't gray at all. It was a thousand different colors, all shimmering under the afternoon sun. I knew my apartment was still there, waiting for me. But for the first time in a long while, I truly felt at home.

I believe that performing acts of kindness will improve our overall health and happiness. Currently, our overall health and happiness is in jeopardy. Technology and the way we communicate with others is making us lonely and putting stress on our hearts. In an issue of Time Magazine, an article explains that technology that involves some form of written communication has made it more convenient to avoid the strenuous work it takes to form precious "substantive" relationships in the flesh and blood ("Debate"). When we are putting less work into a relationship, the result is cheap. Technology has also made it more convenient to cyberbully, since the screen is in between the victim and the cyberbully. Cyberbullying often leads to lower self- esteem, depressive thoughts, and anxiety. This makes victims feels isolated and targeted ("Cyberbullying"). When a victim feels isolated, this leads to loneliness. Loneliness is associated with a twenty nine percent increase in risk of heart disease and a thirty two percent increase in stroke ("Loneliness"). When I spend time texting or scrolling through social media and I come across something funny, I don't laugh out loud the way I would if someone were to make me laugh in person. This has always bothered me, as if technology allows me to ignore my emotions and natural instincts. When someone says something hurtful to me over social media, I look at it over and over. It is so much easier to say whatever I want and be whoever I want when it's over social media or text. These sensations often make me feel lonely, disconnected from my own feelings, and others. I even feel an empty pain in my chest. Once I had set my phone down, I walked down to my room to see my little sister sitting on her bed in our room. She asks about my day and shows genuine interest. I look over at my neatly made bed, which I didn't have time to make this morning. On my made bed, there is a sweet note placed next to the pillows. The note is from my mom. She made my bed and wrote a "thinking of you" note. A smile comes across my face as I read the note and crawl into my bed. I began to do a body scan, and I noticed the pain in my chest went away and my whole body felt light, fluffy, warm, and regulated. These small acts of kindness helped relieve and fulfill me, as they have time and time again. The next morning when I woke up, I began writing a few generic, kind notes to give to random people at school. After reflecting on these mini personal experiences and researching what I was feeling, I believe that kindness is the first step to fulfilling the hole in our hearts. You can perform acts of kindness in so many ways. Make it a goal to share something or say something kind at least once a day. When the going gets tough, and you don't feel like doing anything for these inconsiderate people, ask yourself why you don't feel like doing anything, why are they inconsiderate, how will this affect your health, and how will this affect other's health. This will remind you why it's important to perform acts of kindness. If you are looking for ways to be kind, there are plenty of acts of kindness listed on the Random Acts of Kindness website. Some acts of kindness I have performed myself include baking cookies for others, big giant bear hugs with consent, babysit without accepting money in return, reminding others you love them and why randomly, nominate teacher for the Buffet Award, give positive observations, offer to shovel a neighbor's driveway, stand up for someone, share advice when it is desired, smile at strangers, write a thoughtful note to a teacher or friend, and volunteer at the Food Bank. Although some may argue that being kind to others is not important, and that taking care of yourself is more important, I disagree. When you care for others, you will begin to appreciate yourself even more than you did originally! People that only take care of themselves are less happy. Being kind to others will make taking care of themselves easier, simply because they are happier. A 2010 Harvard Business School survey studied happiness in one hundred thirty-six countries and found that people who contribute to charitable donations or serve others are happiest. When we see a kind act being done and we are around kindness regularly, a love hormone called oxytocin is produced. Oxytocin works to lower blood pressure and maintain a healthier heart. This hormone also increases our self-esteem, optimism, and makes us less anxious in a social situation ("The"). Kindness positively reversed these negative health and happiness facts. Since we cannot change loneliness overnight, kindness has proved to be a positive way to start fixing this problem. Compassion is a muscle. Just like in weight training, you build your compassion muscle by reaching out to other's regularly ("The"). If everyone took the time to observe and be kind, I believe it'd have a big impacts on our health and view of others.