In many countries, it is not uncommon to see people on the streets stretching out their hands for money or to see bona fide beggars eking out a living. In fact, in some third world countries, they are common sights indeed. But in Hong Kong, these kinds of situations are rare. It can be said that Hong Kong is truly a land of good fortunes. Even during times of weak economy or financial crisis or bankruptcy or foreclosure etc., and desperate times indeed these were; yet, one would not hear of Hong Kong residents dying of hunger because they were too poor to feed themselves.
I meant no contempt towards beggars, nor do I disparage them. If times were good, who, in their right mind, would want to squat on the streets and lanes waiting for passersby to drop some loose change? I believe they must have inexpressible tales of misfortunes and inexhaustible tales of tragedy that they would trade their dignity for mere existence through begging.
One day, while passing through Causeway Bay, I spotted a beggar from afar squatting outside a supermarket entrance. As I walked, I rummaged in my pocket for some change to give to him. When I came before him, just as I was bending down to drop a HK$10 into his metal container, the beggar suddenly raised his head. I saw his face, and was shocked by what I saw.
His face was burned. Excepting his eye sockets, his whole face was completely covered with scar tissues; red and black welts permanently froze his facial muscles; not even the smallest expression could be displayed. Yet, his gratitude shone through his eyes.
I sighed inwardly, and took out another HK$20 from my wallet to give to him. He nodded his thanks. Powerless, I turned and walked away. On the way home, the image of that beggar kept replaying itself in my head. I did not know his past, but for sure something happened that he wished he had never experienced. Over here, there’s this person with a ruined face; to survive he has to beg, all for a morsel to fill his stomach. Over there, a person with no disfigurement but spends money like water, all for an elusive quest of perfection.
The same sky above, but each to his own past; should or shouldn’t, willing or unwilling; I have no way of judging, save sigh; heaven and hell is truly but a line apart!
I meant no contempt towards beggars, nor do I disparage them. If times were good, who, in their right mind, would want to squat on the streets and lanes waiting for passersby to drop some loose change? I believe they must have inexpressible tales of misfortunes and inexhaustible tales of tragedy that they would trade their dignity for mere existence through begging.
One day, while passing through Causeway Bay, I spotted a beggar from afar squatting outside a supermarket entrance. As I walked, I rummaged in my pocket for some change to give to him. When I came before him, just as I was bending down to drop a HK$10 into his metal container, the beggar suddenly raised his head. I saw his face, and was shocked by what I saw.
His face was burned. Excepting his eye sockets, his whole face was completely covered with scar tissues; red and black welts permanently froze his facial muscles; not even the smallest expression could be displayed. Yet, his gratitude shone through his eyes.
I sighed inwardly, and took out another HK$20 from my wallet to give to him. He nodded his thanks. Powerless, I turned and walked away. On the way home, the image of that beggar kept replaying itself in my head. I did not know his past, but for sure something happened that he wished he had never experienced. Over here, there’s this person with a ruined face; to survive he has to beg, all for a morsel to fill his stomach. Over there, a person with no disfigurement but spends money like water, all for an elusive quest of perfection.
The same sky above, but each to his own past; should or shouldn’t, willing or unwilling; I have no way of judging, save sigh; heaven and hell is truly but a line apart!
source: 圖文 並謬 pp 24-25
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