BEGGARS.

I hear two voices coming out from the black box we call "radio". The two voices are talking about people of everyday life. But some may not agree in unison. Some think they are not people of everyday life. They think they are this special class of people who block roads and bring irritation. The people the voices are talking about, are beggars.

Since young I've always been asking Mummy for coints to donate everytime I see people doing flag day or beggars on the floor. However, during my adolescence years, my parents have somehow influenced me into thinking all beggars are cheaters. That they actually earn a lot (too much for their own good) each day.

I mean, there are some you can tell who still have hope. They still have the ability to apply for a job that gives them a decent pay to live by each day. But some just do not have the ability to do so. Be it handicapped or seriously too old. These are the people we need to reach out for with the love God gives us every single day. And given their situation, I believe the best we can do is at least donate some lose change in our pockets/coin pouches/wallets.

Lately I've been seeing this particular chinese old man sitting on the stairs of Kembangan MRT station begging for money with his limited talent with harmonica. There were even times he got so tired he'd stop blowing all of a sudden and lean against the wall with a deep sigh. He has a terribly small and skinny built, probably smaller and skinnier than me. His skin all saggy and tanned, hair turning grey/white and dropping.

I've been wanting to donate some money to him but everytime I see him I would be reminded of what my parents tell me about their impression on beggars. Either that or I'd be in a rush to catch the coming train or I don't have any small change.

One day, on the way to the mrt station, I opened my wallet and prepared S$2 worth of coins. I walked excitedly towards the mrt station but was utterly disappinted when I realised he wasn't there. I bitterly kept my S$2 worth of coins back in my wallet and continued my journey.

On another day, I was on my way back home. I got off the train and exited the train station when I heard a faint sound of harmonica playing. I turned around but didn't find that uncle at his usual spot. I hurried to the other side of the mrt station and found him sitting in one corner, playing the harmonica. He looked like he was about to give up and was playing the harmonica to himself.

Without him looking, I started digging into my pocket for any coins and found a one dollar coin. I ran over to him and just as I was about to throw that coin into his almost torn box, he stopped playing. But the moment my coin hit the bottom of the box, bringing multiple "cling"s to the other 10-20 cent coints, he looked up at me with a tired look and thanked me profusely. I smiled at him and made my way back home.

In his look I could feel gratitude and tiredness at the same time. But I felt really happy. It was my first time donating at my own will with my own money. I didn't tug Daddy's or Mummy's sleeves asking for their money to donate. The feeling was more than fulfilling. I hope that uncle will be able to put that one dollar coin to good use.

signing off~DE XIN