Three Years Later

Token Tales — Reflections on invisibility, presence, kindness, and what it means to be noticed through small handmade notes.


Five years ago, I walked into a mammogram appointment with sweaty palms and a racing heart. It was my baseline screening — the first of what I knew would become a regular part of caring for my body.

The technician who greeted me moved with practiced gentleness. She explained each step with patience, and made something inherently uncomfortable feel a little more human.

When the appointment ended, I reached into my bag and handed her one of the small gratitude hearts I was making at the time — handmade tokens for people doing unremarkable, necessary work.

Surprise. Emotion. Recognition. One of those moments where you can actually see someone realizing they've been noticed.

Three years passed. I found myself back in the same waiting room. I'd forgotten my phone at home — no scrolling, no distraction, just paper napkins and a borrowed pen. So I did what I often do while waiting. I started doodling.

"Mansi!! Is that really you!?"

I looked up. It was her. Kelly. Same warmth, same bright energy.

"I still have that heart," she told me. "You made a huge difference that day. I think about it every time I see your work."

Not because of the object. Because of what it represented.

We talked — about how she'd always wanted to draw, to paint, but had never let herself, because she wasn't a "real artist." I know that fear. I've carried it myself.

Maybe creativity isn't the thing we're actually longing for. Maybe what we miss is permission — permission to play, to make something imperfect, to exist outside of usefulness.

I didn't have a handmade token with me that day. So I gave her the napkin drawing instead. Quick. Imperfect. Made in the moment.

Her face softened the same way it had three years before.

And I left with something I’ve seen again and again: People rarely remember the object. They remember how they felt.

માનસી


Received a token? I’d love to hear where we met and what stayed with you.

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