Friday

Sometimes I really do question my judgment -- am I a gullible idiot? Are kindness and stupidity synonymous? I spent my lunch at the pier at the foot of the Ferry Building. It's a place I find myself going to when I feel sad and want to drown away my thoughts in the murky and gray waters of the City by the Bay. Sometimes I go there when I'm happy as well -- I love the feel of the sun shinning on my face, of the cool, blowing breeze, of the birds squawking about, bullying each other for crumbs on the dock, fighting for fish in the sea, I love looking at the horizon and imagining what lies beyond it, I love looking at the cars crossing the Bay Bridge and wondering if anyone I care about is, at that moment, making their way across. In this place I find peace, comfort and quiet solitude. It helps me, not to forget, but to compose my thoughts and feelings. It allows me to feel my sorrow without shame, or feel giddy without an audience. People come and go there, but they blend in with the background, they become part of the environment, like they sad-eyed pigeons and the greedy seagulls, they become another element that, although you feel its presence, it doesn't affect you.

Today, in search of that solace, I made my way there. As I looked into the water, focusing on nothing, thinking of nothing, I saw him again, the weeping man. I offered him my food -- guacamole and chips. He sat down and started eating. We talked a bit, we exchanged names (his is Harka, I think). I learned a little about him, though not much as I don't like being intrusive. Again, he said what he said before, he's hungry and alone. He has been here for 18 months and is from India, that faraway land of mystery and love (Taj Mahal, peeps). Here he has no family to share his misery or joys with. I asked him where he gets his roses from, the ones he tries to sell. He said a flower shop lets him have them. I guess that explains their wilted condition. After a few minutes, we just sat there in silence. Still in silence, he took out his dentures and wiped them clean, removing the crunchy chip residue from the porcelain chompers. He got up, threw the empty guacamole container in the trash, thanked me, and walked away. As he walked away from me, I got up and gave him a dollar (sorry, but I'm poor too…). He smiled and went on his way, approaching people with tears and roses in exchange for, I don't know, money, hope, or kindness.

He left me behind, jumbled in thoughts. First I wondered, am I a fool? Is he taking advantage of me for being stupid, gullible, trusting? Then, I felt guilty for thinking this -- am I that jaded? At the end of the day, I don't know his story, I don't know why his life is the way it is, why he is so sad. But, I think I'm happier believing that he is being honest. Often times, I am disgusted by humanity, disgusted by myself -- we're greedy, manipulative, cruel. I know so many people that are suffering right now and this feeling of helplessness kills me, frustrates me. I think about those women, those old women who have money and sport the designer sweat suits with a big, fat JUICEY stamped across their pancake flat, dried up asses. I see their sour puss faces, usually pulled too tight, making you pity them because even with their monetary resources to find happiness and beauty, their quest is pointless. I get angry and disappointed, but I shouldn't -- that's life and maybe it isn't fair, but we are only responsible for our actions and people who care only about themselves, well, they have free will and maybe one day their karma will catch up, maybe it won't but their actions are not worth the stress.