Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Love (04/27/06)
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TITLE: The Heart Is Willing, But The Mind Hesitates | Previous Challenge Entry
By
05/02/06 -
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Unknown - or maybe ignored - by everyone else present, a woman in torn rags that clung threadbare on her shoulders shuffled her way to the marketplace. In her right hand was a blue plastic cup, uneven on the edges, and scratches marked their territory all around its exterior surface area - scratches that put her into her position, marks that reminded her of her unworthiness, abrasions that mocked her existence. In her left hand, she carried a baby boy.
She sat down, held out her blue plastic cup, and stared pleadingly to everyone who passed by her. Begging.
Beggar.
But she needed money.
Beggar.
She needed food for her baby.
Beggar.
Who cared about those who spat on her as they walked past?
Beggar.
Even children stared at her in disgust.
Beggar.
She saw educated individuals with their fat wallets strolling from stall to stall.
Beggar!
She shied away as they scorned at her and her baby.
Beggar!
Where are the city council workers responsible for people like her?
Beggar!
Take her away! A nuisance! She's blocking the road!
Beggar!
And to think she had the nerve to get herself pregnant! Pah!
Beggar!
That word screamed right at her face. She saw it uttered in the eyes of others. She saw it portrayed in the lineaments of their faces as they winced at her sight.
She hung her head in shame.
But she needed food for her baby.
A girl trailing her grandmother walked past. The baby had kicked the plastic cup which was set on the ground in front of his mother when he struggled to detach himself from his mother's grasp. The plastic cup rolled two feet away from them. A foot away from the girl's Nike shoes. The girl turned.
And their eyes met.
Love.
Why is she here?
Love.
How old is the baby?
Love.
Where is her husband?
Love.
Where did they sleep yesterday?
Love.
Has the baby eaten his breakfast?
Love.
The plastic cup.
The woman looked away. When the girl and her grandmother walked away, she crawled on her hands and reached for the cup, restoring it once more to its initial position.
A stall away, the girl continued wondering about the woman's state. What could she remember about beggars?
Instead of stories of compassion, contradictory views flooded her mind.
What if her husband is a drug-addict and an alcoholic, and he's making use of her and their baby to get money to buy more drugs and booze? What if she's using the baby to get drugs and booze for herself? Why didn't she find some kind of job instead of begging in the streets? Could one be making her lazy, dependent on society to bring up her child?
She scanned the rows of stalls for a fruit-seller. There were watermelons and honeydews at a neighboring stall. She contemplated going over to buy a fruit for the baby.
Suddenly she remembered a recent article about someone's experience which had appeared in the papers sometime ago. A lady had wanted to help a beggar, but the beggar had refused food. He wanted cash, and cash only.
Would it be the same for this woman?
Would she accept an apple for her baby and no cash at all?
After all, she was only a teenager, a girl. She wasn't earning yet and the money in her purse was her parents' money.
Her grandmother had finished her purchase at the vegetable stall and was making her way out of the marketplace.
The girl walked behind her, and as she passed the woman again, she slipped one dollar into the woman's blue plastic cup, glancing compassionately at the duo. The woman, her baby asleep in her arms, did not look up. She merely nodded, gratefully, keeping her eyes fixed onto the ground.
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