This happened some nights ago but somehow flashbacks of the incident still pop up every now and then, as if to remind me what wrong I have done, a harbinger of something sinister about to happen which sets the wheels of karma in motion. I figured maybe by telling you the story I am able to have some peace in my mind.
What goes around comes back around, or so they say. Is it all coming back to me, so soon? I wonder.
It was late at night when I was standing by the road, trying to flag a cab home. Just a mere stone's throw away was a man - an old, old man, and a half limping man - inching his way across the two-way street at the traffic light. He was limping, inch by inch, with nothing but just a walking stick as support.
I was there, standing and looking, as he tried to cross the road - a task seemingly too painstaking and impossible to complete.The traffic lights turned green, yet he was merely halfway across the road. Queues of cars with flashlights a little too bright were building up on the same side of the road he was still crossing. Intimidating they might seem, but the drivers were so kind to patiently wait for this old man. Finally, he heaved himself onto the pavement, and those cars zoomed past that fragile figure with roaring engines.
And I was there, standing and looking still, as he hunched his back a little, in attempt to catch his breath.Then he began to walk, this time in my general direction. I was able to see him clearly then. A man in his sixties, with both his legs unfortunately bent as his knees and bones succumbed to age, with facial expression typical of one in struggle. All this time he was looking at the ground, to make sure his path was clear. I figured he could not affort to be careless as that frail frame of his would never be able to withstand a trip. I could then see clearly, that both his legs shook a little with every step he took. Together with it was his walking stick, which swayed every single time he relied on it for support. How fragile and frail it was!
But I was there, standing and looking, as he tried so hard to prevent himself from losing his balance.The old man paused, this time looking up. His eyes scanned my face. "Young missy," he voiced in Chinese, and continued the sentence in some Hokkien gibberish I could not fathom. I let out a genuine "Huh?" which prompted him to translate what he just said into "Do you have a dollar?" in Chinese.
Now I usually keep small change in my pockets for convenience sake. That night was different - I had none in both pockets. But of course, I did have money in my wallet which I was holding in my hand. Yet somehow some inexplicable feelings about urban scam involving the old and the young took over me and I did the worst thing I have ever done. Okay not something against the law, of course, but denying help to someone who obviously was in need of some, when it was within my capability to help. If I had money in my pocket, I would have given him two dollars even. But I had none. And being so distrustful and skeptical and mean, I just did not want to open my wallet and take out the dollar he asked for, in front of him. So I shook my head at his disappointing eyes and stupidly muttered "Huh?" again.
Sensing the cold-bloodedness in this stranger he knew help was still far away, and so he said "Oh it's alright, thank you" and turned away. I knew that tone in his voice. It was none other than disappointment. It was that kind of disappointment that went deep, all the way into that beating heart of mine. It was as if a voice - my conscience - reprimanding me on such an unethical behaviour of mine!
As he turned and inched away painfully from me, I could not bear to look at him anymore. By then my guilty conscience was too overwhelming, that I felt, for a moment, so worthless and small, and despicable. How DIFFICULT was it, to just open the wallet, and give him what he needed? A dollar was so insignificant, but to him it might well be an easier journey home, an escape from such physical and mental torture.
How could I, after twenty years of education and life, be such an apathetic and a cold-blooded city-walker!Shortly after that, a cab came and I quickly got on it. Before I left the place, I caught one last glimpse of that frail hunched body, still inching his way past the crowd at the bus stop.
Maybe, everyone at the bus stop was the same cold-blooded animal as I was. None extended a helping hand to that old man which, all he ever needed that night was some warmth given by the community he once served and worked for. Instead, cold shoulders was all he got, at his ripe old age.
It pained my heart, tore my soul, to be thinking of what I had done and what I could have done. What did it take for that old man to be happy was just a dollar. A DOLLAR - the same dollar I donated out today.
What good does it make to donate generously to pledgecard holders or stuffing a coin into donation boxes, when standing in face of true people in need we just prove ourselves as apathetic and cold hearted city-walkers? Once again, I am ashamed of myself and what I did.
As I am typing here, jewels are sliding off my cheeks, onto my writing table. Flashbacks of the frail old man are coming to life once again.
To you whom I gave a cold shoulder, I am deeply ashamed of denying you of help. I wish for time to rewind, to have a chance to redeem myself, to undo the wrongs, and to take away your suffering and disappointment.
I AM SORRY.