The Connection Spark: Cultivating Social Skills

How kindness, awkward hellos and 16 emoji roses turn strangers into stories.
It’s late morning in Johannesburg, evening in Seoul, and even later in Adelaide. On the screen, faces appear one by one: Frank on holiday in South Korea, a scout leader in Australia, a softly-spoken French traveller, a thoughtful British voice, and the ever-smiling host in “sunny-but-actually-cloudy” South Africa.

Today’s topic is deceptively simple: social skills. But within minutes, it becomes clear they’re not just talking about small talk and handshakes. They’re circling something deeper: the fragile, electric moment when a stranger becomes human to you — the connection spark.

This conversation is part of Pineapple’s ongoing global series exploring how we meet, see, and stay with each other in a restless world.

And as you read, notice what lands. Which stories feel oddly close to your own?

A Westerner in Seoul, a Boy on the Subway, and an Unexpected Door

Frank is dialing in from Seoul, legs aching from what he calls his “14-kilometre trek almost into North Korea.” He laughs when he says it, but you can feel the tired happiness of a long day on your feet: subway tunnels, markets, side streets, the buzz of a city that doesn’t know your name.

On a crowded subway, towering above most people as “a bloody tall Westerner,” he spots a young Korean boy, headphones on, repeating English–Korean vocabulary on his phone.

“I had this moment of hesitation,” Frank admits. “You’re in this country and you just do not know the etiquette.”

He does it anyway. He taps the boy on the shoulder, points at the phone and says, “You are learning English.” From there, everything softens. The headphones come off. Names are exchanged. He introduces himself — “My name is Frank and this is Nathalie. I teach English.” — and a small, bright conversation unfolds in the middle of the train.

For about ten minutes, the subway becomes more than transport. It becomes a classroom, a memory, a story he’ll retell across continents.

And then there’s the other encounter.

Same city, different room. Three people: two Westerners and a Korean. They’re warm, interested. “Where are you from?” “Do you teach?” They swap business cards. Only when he turns theirs over does he realise: Jehovah’s Witnesses.

“They did not say a word,” Frank says, still half-shocked. “I walked straight into that situation.”

Outside, Nathalie is perched on a stone, shoes on, eyes amused, ready to run if needed. She knows him well enough to know that his curiosity will always drag him through at least one strange door a day.

What Makes Someone Instantly Likeable?

When the focus shifts to Monica in Adelaide, the conversation travels from Seoul subways to Australian shelters.

Monica has spent the morning dropping toiletries and clothes at homeless shelters — including one for women escaping domestic violence. Outside, she notices a woman whose “bed” is set up under CCTV for safety. The woman is quietly picking up rubbish in the gutter.

“All these other fancy people wouldn’t think of picking up litter,” Monica says. “I had the greatest respect for her.”

When asked what makes someone instantly likeable, Monica doesn’t hesitate:

• Willingness to help others.
• Respect for everyone — from the prime minister to the person who collects the bins.
• Kindness, especially when no one is watching.

She’s sharply aware of how social habits have shifted. The lost art of saying thank you is one of her quiet irritations.

She tells the group about sending wedding gifts that were never acknowledged, and about the pleasure of getting a simple, handwritten card from one of her scouts: “That meant more than the chocolates they gave me. The chocolates were good,” she smiles, “but the card stayed.”

The Skill We Underestimate: Asking Questions (and Smiling)

Bruce, with his wry humour and professor’s cadence, is the one who names it:

“The simple answer is: the ability to ask relevant questions.”

Of all the social skills — confidence, charm, storytelling — he argues that the underrated superpower is curiosity. Asking any question, he says, and actually listening to the answer.

Then he adds another layer: the smile.

He recalls a sign on a notice board in a village in India:

“A smile increases your face value.”

Janita, the host, laughs as he adds, “You’re a prime example of this.” She protests mock-seriously that she’s “not very good at that,” and she gently teases the group toward practicing.

They riff on how aggression has become the lifeblood of media — Netflix plots full of violence, news cycles built on outrage. Kindness isn’t trending content. Yet, Bruce points out, there’s an entire newsletter called Random Acts of Kindness, a quiet countercurrent for people who are hungry for softer stories.

Laughter surfaces too — “laughter therapy,” he mentions, originating in India and now spread globally. Monica chimes in with the revelation from her dog trainer: dogs, apparently, like reggae and are unsettled by opera. Laughter ripples through the call. This, too, is social skill in action: play, absurdity, shared useless trivia that somehow makes everyone feel a little closer.

The Suspicion Around Kindness

The conversation turns serious again when Frank and Nathalie describe helping two elderly Korean women struggling with heavy shopping bags near an escalator.

Instinctively, without discussing it, they step in.

“We just grabbed these things and helped them along,” Frank says.

The women resist at first — “No, no, no!” — not out of rudeness, but out of caution. Monica understands instantly: “They probably thought you might run off with their bags.”

The group sighs in collective recognition. Today, kindness often has to fight suspicion.

“We’re guilty until proven innocent,” Frank observes. “People automatically assume that if somebody wants to help you, they want something in return.”

He insists that we need to reclaim a basic trust: that the average person in any city is “a relatively decent person,” not a threat to be managed.

Janita shares her own daily frustration: picking up her son from school, waiting patiently for a parking spot or stopping for pedestrians who cross the road not on the pedestrian crossing.

“They didn’t even say thank you,” she says. “Just pick up your hand. Just smile at me and carry on with your day.”

Janita laughs darkly — “Run them down!” someone jokes — and immediately retracts it. Everyone knows she won’t. But the humour comes from a familiar irritation: we’re starved of basic courtesy.

The discussion slides naturally into bigger questions: Australia’s looming ban on social media for under-16s; the impact of mental health struggles; the way kindness can, quite literally, save someone’s day.

“Kindness costs nothing,” Monica says, “and it might be the thing that changes their day… maybe even the outcome.”

Bruce reframes kindness as appreciation — a crucial need at every age.

“An enormous number of relationships break down,” he notes, “because people in them don’t feel appreciated… It’s another way of packaging kindness.”

When Social Skills Go Digital: 16 Roses for Rosie

Halfway through the call, a message pings in from Rosie, a regular in the group who can’t join today.

“I’m with strong migraine and my body is paining,” she writes.

The group immediately pivots into live kindness.

Frank, self-described “uncultivated, barbaric gorilla of a person,” asks the others to help him craft a kind reply. They dictate: start with “Hello, Rosie.” Add “Sorry to hear this,” and “We all miss you. Get well soon. We hope to see you next week.”

Monica suggests a flower emoji. Frank, now fully committed, sends not one rose but sixteen.

“So we have just sent 16 roses to a Rosie,” he reports, grinning at his own joke.

It’s small, almost comically simple — yet everyone feels it. A woman in pain somewhere off-screen has just been wrapped in a digital bouquet and a chorus of affection. A kindness ripple in real time.

Social Skills Don’t Have to Be Serious

Towards the end, Janita shifts gears.

“Let’s do some silly questions,” she says. “Those were the serious questions.”

Monica goes first:

If good communication were a dance, what would it look like?

She imagines something smooth and free-flowing, where messages are “clearly understood.” She mentions Al Pacino’s tango scene, then adds that for dogs, apparently, the soundtrack should be reggae. Communication as rhythm, not interrogation.

Bruce’s prompt:

If a friendship had a smell, what would it be?

He answers roses — again — looping the conversation back to Rosie and her virtual bouquet.

Natalie’s question:

If you could have a talking pet as your social coach, which pet would you choose?

She chooses a dog, instantly. Dogs, she says, are close to humans; you can read them through the eyes. Cats, she suggests, would be terrible social coaches — “a bit antisocial, focused on food and sleep.”

Frank’s is the most cinematic:

Imagine you meet an alien at school. What is the first polite thing you would say?

He hesitates, then lands on:

“Where are you from?”

He admits the risk — in some cultures, asking that has become politically sensitive. Bruce suggests softening it: “Do you mind if I ask you?” The group reflects on how political correctness sometimes ties people up in knots, making them afraid to say anything at all.

Frank pushes back gently: if your intention is warm, your smile sincere, your curiosity real, perhaps we need to give each other more grace.

“If I smile, and I have a sincere intention and normal curiosity and respect,” he says, “then I’m going to say, ‘Look, I’m sorry, where are you from?’”

Your Own Season of Connection

As the call winds down, Janita brings it full circle:

“Social skills don’t always have to be serious,” she says. “Sometimes they can be fun, sometimes creative, sometimes a little bit crazy so you want to find your shoes and run away very quickly.”

The group laughs, thinking of Jehovah’s Witnesses, surprise forks appearing at a Korean restaurant, and Nathalie quietly waiting outside houses in case another “adventure” goes sideways.

What they agree on is simple:

• Social skills are the connection spark — the warm click when human meets human.
• Kindness, appreciation and basic manners are their most powerful expression.
• Smiles, questions, laughter and even silly hypotheticals are tools for building tiny bridges, again and again.

And as the screens start to wink out — “Have a great week, everyone,” “Enjoy Seoul,” “We look forward to hearing more of your adventures” — the conversation leaves a lingering question for anyone eavesdropping on this global lunch table:

What “season” of social life are you in?

Are you in a winter of withdrawal — avoiding eye contact, staying silent, scrolling instead of speaking? A blustery autumn, shedding old friendships but not yet planting new ones? A restless spring, full of tentative new hellos? Or a generous summer, where connection feels effortless and warm?

Whatever your season, today offered a gentle, practical invitation:

• Tap the shoulder of the metaphorical boy on the subway.
• Say thank you to the driver who stops, the teacher who shows up, the friend who remembers.
• Send the message. Add the emoji. Ask the question. Smile first.
• Offer help — and learn to accept it, too.

Because somewhere, right now, someone is waiting at the top of an escalator with a heavy bag, at a shelter door with a plastic bag of rubbish, at a school gate with a small child’s hand in theirs — hoping, perhaps without even realising it, for a tiny act of kindness that will ripple outward.

Maybe this is your moment to create it.