SAMARITAN ARE REAL: A True Story of Kindness Amid Chaos

Sometimes, heroes don’t wear uniforms. Sometimes they’re in fancy places, dressed in ordinary clothes.

It was supposed to be a normal afternoon. My employer’s son and I were heading home after his swimming class. We took the train, then boarded a bus toward Causeway Bay. I glanced at my phone and froze—several missed calls from my sir. My phone is always on silent, so I hadn’t heard it ring.

I called him back immediately. He sounded urgent.  

“Where are you?” he asked.  

“We’re on the bus to Causeway Bay,” I replied.  

“When you get off, stay at the bus stop. I’ll come pick you up.”

It was just one stop from Hung Hom to Causeway Bay. Simple enough. But when we got off the bus, my sir called again. I was confused, so I handed the phone to his son. After a short exchange, the boy said, “Let’s go over there—it’s near the subway. Daddy will meet us there.”

We walked toward the subway entrance. I paused to take a few photos of Victoria Harbour, trying to enjoy the view. But something felt off. Crowds were gathering across the road. Buses weren’t moving. The air was tense.

“Is there a protest happening?” I asked the boy.

Before he could answer, chaos erupted.

Footsteps thundered behind us. Loud voices echoed. A strange smell filled the air—sharp, chemical, unfamiliar. My heart pounded. I turned and saw men dressed in black sprinting toward us, throwing objects into the sea. Police officers chased them, shouting commands.

I didn’t wait. I grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him toward the subway. We ended up in a car park, disoriented and searching for an exit. A woman rushed past us, her face pale.  

“Don’t go that way,” she warned. “Too many people. Bloody men. It’s dangerous.”

We turned back, looking for somewhere—anywhere—to hide. My hands trembled. Sweat poured down my face. Tears blurred my vision. I’ve always feared this kind of chaos. My phone rang again. It was my sir. I answered, my voice shaking, eyes darting around. I wasn’t sure if I was looking for an exit or just a safe corner to disappear into.

Even inside the car park, the sounds of shouting and running footsteps echoed. Then I saw them—two girls and two boys, dressed in black and white shirts, stepping out of a car and walking toward us. I handed the phone to Richard, my employer’s son, so he could speak to his father. I held his hand tightly, ready to run.

The group approached us, speaking softly. I couldn’t understand their words, but Richard responded. I was panicking. I don’t trust these people, I thought. But they didn’t flinch. They offered us drinks and tissues. “It’s okay,” one of the girls said gently. “You’re safe now.”

They stayed with us, walking beside us through the confusion. My sir couldn’t find us, so they helped us navigate the area. Inside the mall, we passed two injured women receiving first aid from volunteers. My nerves were frayed, but the group kept reassuring me.

Time felt frozen. Minutes stretched into hours. But finally, I saw him—my sir—at the bottom of the escalator, trying to come up. Relief washed over me. I turned to the four strangers who had helped us and said, “Thank you.” It felt small compared to what they had done, but it was all I could offer.

Reflections

Despite the chaos and fear...  

Despite the darkness that sometimes surrounds us...  

There are always people who will help.  

A Samaritan may appear in the simplest way

A soft voice, a kind gesture, a steady presence.

They may not wear a cape.  

They may not look heroic.  

But they show up when it matters most.

This experience reminded me that even in the most frightening moments, kindness can break through. And sometimes, the people who save you aren’t the ones you expect—they’re the ones who simply choose to care.

© Mari Felices

✍️ Author Bio

Mari is a poet, a storyteller at heart, drawing from real-life experiences to reflect on the quiet strength of everyday people. Based in Hong Kong, she writes to remind others that even in chaos, compassion can shine through.