Beggars Are Not Choosers

This morning, whilst the sky was still dark, I was amongst the sleepy faces and some unwashed bodies of commuters heading to their school and workplaces. It's been sometime since I have taken public transport and I secretly relished the sight, sounds and smells around me. "I've missed this," I thought.


But I digress. My story today is about the man I saw along the pathway to the MRT station. A beggar. "A common sight", I told myself from afar. I was not usually one who stops and gives money to beggars. Partly because I've been afraid of them since young and a bigger part is due to the fact that I was skeptical from all that work with the low-income group in my previous job.

But today was somehow different. As I approached him, I saw that he was a man probably about my father's age, and an amputee. His right leg, scarred at the knee was covered carefully with a brown nylon stocking. You can still see the painful scars of the man's past. In front of him was a red coloued plastic, nothing grand, and probably was part of something else before.

The man did not give any pitiful looks to the hurried commuters walking in front of him. Instead,in a dignified manner, he was repeatedly bowing his head to everyone. As I passed him, my heart broke.

It could have been me, or my family members, I thought. And very often, we go through life with a certain kind of dignity about ourselves, with an ego, even. It must have been very humbling for someone to be able to give respect to others like that.

When I turned back to place some money in his plastic container, he bowed lower and said,"Xie xie, xie xie." I could no longer hide the tears that were already forming as I quickly walked to the MRT, face down.

I'm not sure if ceasing to do social assistance has weakened me, or it was that time of the month. But early in the morning today, my heart was touched.