Helplessness

I see him everyday, while driving,taking the turn near BM. Wearing the same yellowed, dirty white shirt, long black trousers, he crosses the street painfully slow, dragging behind his shorter right leg.

On the same street, i see another old Indian man, sitting on the corridor,outside a closed, run down coffee shop. What he does there baffles me for the street is not bustling at 7.45 am.

When i come to work, i see an old Malay man, sweeping the garden and walking around in the hot sun, tending to the trees and plants in the company.

The old Indian guard at my factory proudly proclaims that brand new BMW parked in the factory belongs to him.

I saw a short documentary on TV about a young Sri Lankan boy who lost his siblings and mother to the tsunami. He was sitting on a plastic mat, staring blankly with a few dollars on his hands, pleading for someone to take the money and return his mother and siblings to him. He had lost everything and has nowhere to go.

Only one thought plays in my mind. These old men would probably never feel luxury in their lives. The boy..would he be able to put his life together again? And..i often wonder out loud, how am i ever going to help them...?