Homeless Stranger

Homeless Stranger



It’s 8:30 in the morning in the downtown core of the beautiful city of Halifax, Nova Scotia. The sky is trickling a gentle rain on the skin of my face, and I welcome it. It’s refreshing in the unseasonably warm weather we’re getting in February. I’m on my way to work, but I stop for my usual cup of latte at the Starbucks store just two corners down from my office. I notice him as I push my way into the store; he’s occupying his usual spot on the curb just below the traffic light. It’s the same homeless man of every morning – a figure of my daily routine now. A constant. So why did something tickle me this time?


I buy my coffee, this time adding a blueberry bar to go with it, and try to ignore that tickle at the back of my head. Walking out, I make it a point to ignore him too, because I don’t have any cash on me, as usual. I’m so paperless about money like that. And just when I’ve crossed the street to the other side from him, it hits me that he looks especially drawn, like he is being pinched by hunger more than usual this morning. There’s also a sagging in his shoulders that wasn’t there before; a posture of hopelessness that made me look over at him one last time before plodding on to the office building. I hesitate for just a second, do I stop and talk to him? I can ask him if he’d like breakfast, since I can’t offer any change. But I don’t stop. I enter the building and the day goes as usual.


One hour later, I decide to work up the courage to engage the stranger in a conversation. I psyche myself up and think, “What the hell, if I look stupid, then I look stupid.” But when I hit the corner he’s not there. Gone. And with him the chance to do what I knew was the right thing to do, but did not do it. Because I hesitated. Because I didn’t want to come out weird and get embarrassed. Chicken shit.


I always say communication is key to the human race’s evolution, but really how communicative are we? How many other people felt the same tickle I felt towards this homeless stranger, and did nothing? It was my responsibility as a human being to stop and make contact with him and ask genuinely if all was well. I know this will haunt me for some time, that nagging feeling that I could’ve made a difference, but missed the chance. And worse, that he may have been in desperate need of help, and never got it. I hope he’s fine. I hope someone else stepped up to it and helped him. I want to be that someone else the next time.

Comments

  1. AnonymousMarch 13, 2019 at 2:47 AM

    You do realise it is a way he makes money to support a drug habit? Many of the "homeless" in Halifax are not. Many are mentally ill and live in support homes . If you want to make a difference go to your local government official ask for changes - it was these changes made by previous government officials who pushed these people from institutions to support homes. Support homes in which these individuals can come and go as they please on their "day pass" to sit on the most heavy foot traffic streets to panhandle.

    Then there are the others who are mentally ill due to their drug habits and refuse help all they want is to feed the habit. Those who are actually homeless have services available to them if they need help but there are rules. Not everyone on the street is willing to abide by them.

    You romanticizing about human interaction - you need to realise Halifax is both beautiful and dangerous.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Ghost

Image
It took years to get here. And a lot of thinking, stumbling, and getting up again. I don’t know if I’ve ever known myself to be a woods person, but I honestly don’t know what I could’ve done without the McKintosh Trail in K’jipuktuk. The leaves today had more red in them, the stubborn vegetation leaning into the new season and finally giving in to the inevitable cycle of change. Fall. It’s a sad season for me; reminds me of my birth and the death of romances. To me, September has always symbolized a certain end to possibilities. As a child, I’d hate the end of summer vacation - a time when I’d have to go back to Dubai for school and leave Cairo behind. To my childhood and teen self, Cairo was the pinnacle of all meaning, where things and characters and drama got created. Dubai was small and unassuming, no matter how prettier and cleaner it was.  The connection with the family, the land, and the existential roots during the summer was what I lived for during the school year in Dubai. Th
Read more

Nuna from Nunaland

Image
Hi, my name is Nuna and I come from Nunuland. I’m a left-handed woman in a big world of predominantly right-handed people. I was born left-handed but those in power have made it out as if I “chose” being left-handed. Some suggest that I got bored of right-handedness and decided to try a more exotic choice. Some think my left-handedness is a psychological disease that I need to get “therapy” for. And some label me as “dexterously deviant.” Just for being myself. People who have never lived my experience will talk about me as if I’m a theoretical concept or “issue” or political movement. But I’m just a human being existing, just like them. When I get any representation, the dominant right-handed folks get angry for some reason, but I don’t understand why my existence threatens them. When we left-handed folks form our own safe spaces, some hateful right-handed folks will come and hurt us. We have tried everything, from logic and science, to love and peace, to reason with the dominant folk
Read more

My Ancestors, My Power

Image
Today a Scotsman, an Indigenous Cree woman, an African Nova Scotian, and an Egyptian spoke about love. We came together online and did it in front of a wonderfully unexpectedly high number of people. In the context of celebrating Black History Month in Nova Scotia, we shared our personal experiences about the inspiration and challenges of our ancestors, how the past resonates today, and how to be a good ancestor for those to come. Through our stories, we spoke of love for the self that is indiscriminate from love for the ancestors, love for real connections, and for the power of authentic responsibility towards one another’s “future” history. And boy was it tough. But it was also courageous, heartbreaking, joyful, and liberating. Revolutionary even. Yes, love can do that. Wait, that’s not everything. The magic was in the reception, folks. The flood of gratitude, acknowledgments, returned love, support, and declaration of NEED for more open dialogues like ours was unbelievable. Hence, t
Read more