Things not to think about
Ξ January 31st, 2009 | → 5 Comments | ∇ Hong Kong, On being me |
I wasn’t going to tell this story.
It was a Sunday, I think. I was out grabbing dinner. More than anything, I wanted a walk. A chance to stretch my legs, think of nothing and be alone with the seven million. But there were two of us on that corner. She just grabbed my arm. She told me she was hungry. She pleaded for money. Please. She had ahold of my left forearm, obviously and gently. I took her hand off my arm and pretended the music from my iPod blinded me from her situation. I looked in her eyes, and then I pretended I didn’t look in her eyes. She stayed there, wearing her sweater and cotton pants and unkempt hair, on the corner. She watched me. Then she moved on. I felt her there, and I moved on. Until I didn’t.
I wasn’t going to tell this story because I didn’t do anything worthy of anything. My first instinct was to walk away, ignore this woman pleading for money. Don’t all homeless, hungry, destitute people plead for money? I’m not rich. I have more debt than … Why was this — this stooped, old woman — affecting me so much that night? And why has it replayed in my head so many times?
I walked away. I looked back after a block and she was stepping out of the shadows to ask someone else for money, please, she’s hungry. I was almost where I was going, and I decided to get double what I planned. I’d give it to her. Food for the hungry. I paid less than HK$20. I put her share of dinner in a bag, I put mine in a bag. And I hoped I’d find her. I was sort of glad for a moment to be doing something.
There she was, in the shadows, crouching. Then she wandered out to meet a stranger. Then back to where the building met the sidewalk, where it’s dark. Out again. Here I came. I offered her one of my bags and brought my eyes up to hers. At first I thought she wasn’t going to take it. She looked inside. Looked at me, confused, I suppose. Then she took it. And I walked off. My encounter with this plump little woman made me feel so sad. Not for her, not for me. Just sad. Maybe for all the hungry, slightly crazy, bilingual, brave women, men and children in the world.