The rain isn't half bad when you're looking at the falling rain from your room's window while holding a cup of warm choco. While sipping your drink, you think that the ashen skies have a distinct charm to them. There's something calming and thoughtful in the rain clouds glowing with a toned-down light, joined by the shushing sound of the rain on the streets and rooftops. You don't feel a hint of menace; you feel like in a meditative trance. Whether good or bad, the rain even brings thoughts and memories of love and romance. During these times, the rain ain't half bad.
It's nice to be inside with the rain pouring, problem is when you don't have a roof on top of your head. I say this because I remember the homeless. One homeless in particular.
There is a flyover in front of our office, and you can see this homeless lying down at the foot of the flyover, just along the railing. His situation intrigued me since he was able to lie down on that flyover and sleep. Naturally, vehicles would pass by his "bedroom"; imagine getting sleep in a situation like that. Come late at night, think about counting passing ten-wheeler trucks instead of jumping sheep. But what takes the cake is how that homeless seems to sleep like he's lying on soft pillows and satin sheets. He was so relaxed that I have thought several times that the guy must've been dead. But the rising and falling of his chest told me otherwise. I had to smile whenever I see it.
Of course, you know that that guy is not right in the head. But that is a topic for another day. The rain just made me think of where that homeless would make his bed. He may tolerate the noise of the vehicles, but I don't think he can take the cold, wet, and chilling rain. I thought right. When I looked outside through the night's downpour, the homeless didn't want to be a soaking wet homeless. But where could he have slept that evening?
This then led me to think about the other homeless. Especially the homeless children. It was freezing that night, then add to that being drenched by the rain: it would be a miracle if you didn't get consumption in the morning. Imagine kids having to sleep through that. Without shelter and blankets, you've got to admire the tenacity of our street ruffians. I would have to tip my hat to them for surviving.
Both of these--the harsh weather and the plight of the homeless--made me criticize myself a little. What have I done to help? Shouldn't I try to make a difference to these people's lives? Can't I do anything, no matter how small, to improve their situation?
I know this is being soft-headed and melodramatic. I know this is something that anyone had thought of while seeing someone with a condition poorer than one's own. It's wanting to be heroic. You would like to work for charity somehow. Even if it's not that, it could be the recognition of a need for social justice.
Then reality and selfishness smacks you in the face. You think about how what you earn isn't enough to cover all your expenses. You think about how you would become charitable when you're rich enough. You would think that you're already paying taxes, it should be the government's job. You would think that you need to take care of yourself first, if there's any left over (which is usually none), you can give to charity. You would think that everybody has their own share of troubles, and everyone should take care of their own. Eventually that spirit of charity would become just a foolish and impractical notion; a whim. You would then live your life as normal like you haven't seen anything at all. You would think about the next movie, nightout, dinner, date, clothes, shoes, gadget, groceries, mortgage, and so on, and so on.
But when I feel the cold wind brought about by the rain, I think what's more chilling is not the weather itself, but the coldness of people. I imagine a homeless child (a moe loli, if possible) shivering in the steps in front of a building, thinking to herself it would be good to have warm place to lie and that some blankets and a warm cup of choco would be nice. I imagine her teeth chattering while wishing for someone to help. But all the answer she will get is the freezing cold wind and the onslaught of the downpour. She's already chilled to the bone, but it's how the passers-by that glance at her with indifference and apathy that finally chills her heart. I can't imagine how it would have felt to be so cold inside and out. It would have been nice to feel even a warm tear rolling down your cheek, but I would suppose it was too cold to even cry.
I'm being soft-headed again. What I need to think about is the next movie, nightout, dinner, date, clothes, shoes, gadget, groceries, mortgage, and so on, and so on. I have no time to listen for imaginary cries for help. All these inclinations to help are just like rain drops that roll off my umbrella as I walked through the rain on the way home. My passion for charity is about as hot as the freezing rain that fell down that night.
And so, I just pass the buck along. It's something I can't do anything about. I'm not rich, and I don't have time and money for charity. I would just have to pay my taxes and hope for the best. I would just wish the flyover homeless the best of luck, and tell my imaginary homeless loli to not give up and fight hard. All of these I do while sitting by my window, watching the rain fall down, and sipping my cup of warm choco.
No comments:
Post a Comment