Agnes had always adored the word “hallowed.” The more verbose term struck a stronger chord than ‘kind’, ‘compassionate’, or even ‘saintly’.
All Saints’ Day dawned, and Agnes, hallowed by nature, was ready to celebrate.
But not without reservation. She clicked on her keyboard, then paused. Why were only saints endowed with the term? Didn’t SHE contribute to organisations for the needy?
Dissatisfied with the lack of acknowledgement, Agnes launched a Campaign of Holiness to affirm her saintly credentials. It would involve performing three good deeds before lunchtime. All Saints’ Day presented the perfect opportunity for altruism.
So she helped an elderly neighbour haul heavy groceries up to her apartment, insisting on a wefie for Facebook evidence. Selflessness deserved a camera angle.
She made a generous donation to a charitable organisation and asked its secretary to add her name to the official donors list. Anonymity was pointless.
She graciously forgave her neighbour for allowing her dog to poop on her lawn and related the incident on her church’s official podcast.
She scrolled through her Facebook feed after performing these acts of pure goodwill. Not one post acknowledged them.
Agnes sat in her kitchen, sipping her coffee. The invisible halo was weighty.
Her frustration grew. The harvest for acknowledgement was fruitless. The image of purity was crumbling.
She decided that her charitable deeds warranted an announcement. She uploaded her wefie to Facebook, LinkedIn, Threads and BlueSky, mentioning her donation and recounting her acts of forgiveness; they had taken supreme effort.
Her generosity attracted an embarrassingly minuscule audience. There was only one like-from herself.
Then Old Mr Smith from the apartment below called, asking if she could help with another heavy grocery bag. She turned him down; she had already spent the morning helping others. Even saints need downtime. Then it occurred to her. Could her kind deeds be a useless gift that others merely receive? Could they be taking advantage of her good heart?
It was time to post an appreciation reminder on Facebook.
While drafting her Facebook reminder, she caught sight of a post.
Residents were pouring rivers of thanks to Mrs Tan for helping elderly neighbours cook meals and run errands. Yet, Mrs Tan hadn’t uploaded a single photo or made any announcements.
Several neighbours gathered to thank Mrs Tan. Agnes attended. Gratitude required presence.
“Thanks for helping Mr Smith with the groceries earlier.” Mrs Tan’s thanks came as a warm flood. “Could you help distribute meals to those who cannot be here today?”
Agnes’ jaw dropped. Her reputation for compassion had turned her into a Kindness Bank-only for withdrawals.
Agnes went home, finished dinner, and slowly scrolled through her Facebook feed.
Two elderly neighbours ran into each other outside her window. Meals quickly became the focal point.
“With my legs like this, how can I cook?”
“Don’t worry, Mrs Tan will bring something.”
Agnes nearly dropped her mobile. The Tan restaurant was apparently open 24 hours.
So she decided to speak up at the next neighbourhood gathering.”Mrs Tan’s not opening a soup kitchen.” But she couldn’t resist. “Neither am I.”
Mrs Tan continued her meal distributions, and the residents restrained their thanks.
But not for Agnes. Facebook praise posts flowed without stopping.
She posted another stern reminder about gratitude and appreciation, signing off with a flourish.
Agnes the Hallowed.
She bit her lip, smiled, and made an adjustment. The heart was there. But she was just—
Agnes the Hollowed.
Mirrors of the Mind explores those reflections through stories that look at people, relationships and the unexpected turns that make us question what we thought we knew.
Sometimes, the most revealing thing in a mirror isn’t the person looking back.
