Dear Poor Homeless Man, what drove you to live in the streets?

Tis Thing Called Life

Last weekend,  I witness a pitiful sight of a homeless middle age man sleeping along the streets.


With his worn slippers as his pillow, this man slept, oblivious to the people walking past him. But you may notice that the position of his head is too near the corner of the shop- and his skinny, small and malnourished scawny body may not be noticable enough- someone who is not mindful may accidentally turn the corner and kicked his head.


His belongings were little- and there are things that he could carry around with him.  The sidewalk become a temporary restplace for him to rest his weary head.  Nearby, you can see cardboxes being stacked around the public phone booths.  These were from what he had probably gathered from garbage that were thrown up by nearby shops.

For the shops, the cardboard boxes were useless garbage. For him, it was valuable as he could sell them for some little money that would perhaps buy him a little food to warm his constantly growling stomach…


Below, some clothes lies on top of the spoilt phone booth that perhaps he could take and wear at night or at least to cover himself from the merciless mosquitos and cold rain.


What drove such people to the live on the streets….we’ll never know. Behind every homeless person- there is a sad story and a lot of unshed tears…. or eyes that cried so much that the tears are all dried up. But as a previous article had indicated,  some prefer being homeless than to live in a caged mansion.

Even if the welfare officers come and take this man to a welfare home, he may just run away to go back to the streets. There is suffering… but with that, comes a strange freedom. No one would tell him what to do…..he can wonder as and where he wishes to and wherever his skinny legs brings him. Time passes slowly- and in his waking hours, he watches life passing him by.

Sometimes he sees happy families and his heart bled with old memories. Then he shut his heart not to think about those memories. The chilling cold and the constant hunger do help to numb his mind and heart.  In the loneliness and isolation, he started to talk to himself- and after a while, he would eventually heard another voice talking back to him- but the voice usually annoys him to no end (schizophrenia).

There is nothing in the world for him to live for.  Tomorrow brings no meaning.

Who knows, tomorrow may just be the day where he would shed this sorry state and move on to another existance. There is nothing to hold on, nothing to gain, nothing to lose. Whatever happens, nothing could make him afraid anymore….

Don’t look upon them with digust- for a person who forsake dignity must have go through so much that life totally has no meaning. That there’s nothing left to lose. If one day we would take the time, we would probably hear a tale of such unbearable suffering that we would not even wish on our worst enemy.

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