Once upon a time, there was a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl. She used to believe that she could touch the stars, change the world, even redefine greatness. Those were better times, and she treasured those fleeting moments. They only lasted until she caught the judgmental gleam in the eyes of her college lecturer, until the girl cliques avoided eye contact and gave her a suspiciously wide berth in case she violated them. Her dreams lasted until the day her parents threw her out of her home. She lives on the streets now; she doesn't go back to her parents' house if she can help it. The homeless youth programmes are alright. They administer more discrimination than love. Oh, and she was in love with a girl.
She only wished for acceptance and love, and to feel beautiful again.
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Once upon a time, a man braved the bone-chilling weather of near two degrees Celsius on a cold and damp street, on a bleak Sunday evening. Clad in three pairs of pants, two sweaters, scarves and a hat, he lay shivering in a foetal position, tucked under several layers of blankets. His eyes were icy, colored marbles, glazed over and lifeless. Every intake of breath was so shallow, any observer would have worried that he would stop breathing altogether. No one, however, took much notice of a tramp lying on a street.
Once upon a time, the winter wind swept leaves off the roads and into the way of people's purposeful strides. It nipped at any exposed bit of skin in hopes that someone would pause to take heed of it - to no avail, of course. Throngs of crowds brushed past each other, crunching leaves and sticks underneath their boots, as if they were afraid that the cold would settle on them for a meal if they didn't hurry along.
Through my bedroom window, I observed a small man, wrapped in blankets, curled on the pavement about fifteen yards away. Twigs and leaves tangled with the disheveled dark hair that his beanie cap could not cover. The cold seemed to strike him in the gut and bite lines into his temple.
Some passers-by tossed a sympathetic glance his way. Some might have muttered a silent prayer for him: Poor dear, bless your soul, may all be well with you soon. The ones closest to him dropped their loose change on the ground in front of him. A tall lady in a red fur-lined parka and matching high-heeled boots bent down to tuck a fifty-dollar-note under his blanket. Upon accomplishing their good deed for the day, they all moved on.
The man did not move.
As I watched, a man broke away from the crowd of hats, coats and boots and ambled along to the corner of the boulevard towards the vagrant. Even from a side view of the man, I saw the warmth in his smile. He stopped in front of the homeless man, set down his messenger bag and sat cross-legged facing the still man on the ground, apparently unconcerned about the dampness seeping into his wool-felt coat. There was something about his mannerism that implied that such a gesture was habitual. Reaching into his bag, the man in the coat produced a coffee cup and a packet of food. Then, he aided the one on the ground into an upright position and placed the food and drink in his trembling hands.
While the homeless man ate, I saw the shoulders of the man with the coat rise and fall and saw his animated hand gestures, evidently attempting to engage his company in conversation. Not long after, the invisible burden that weighed down the vagrant's head and tensed his shoulders lifted. When his posture relaxed, his eyes gleamed. His lips curved into the smallest but most sincere smile I had seen in aeons. Eventually, the man in the coat made to leave.
It was my only chance; I made the decision in a split-second. Pulling a thick blanket off my bed and over my bare shoulders, I ran outside into the stinging cold.
"Mister, Mister! Pardon me, Mister!"
By some miracle, the man in the coat heard me from ten yards behind him. He turned around and started. Perhaps it was because teenage girls in short pyjama bottoms and a colourful blanket flowing behind them didn't chase after him every day. Nevertheless, the man did not signal for me to leave but waited patiently until I had caught up to him.
"Um...I couldn't help but notice when you stopped by that man on the road and gave him a meal. If it's not too rude to ask, sir, why did you do that?"
He must have seen curiosity written all over my questioning face, because his smile was understanding. Joy shone through his green eyes and lifted his cheekbones.
"Darling, had I not, who would provide for him? People give him money and they give him blankets. Some kind souls lend him the occasional shelter in the winter. And that's all good, but sometimes...sometimes...all he wants is an embrace, you know? From a person. Just an ounce of care could keep his heart beating for another day." He paused. "And my dear, do call him Roger. His name. "
His voice lowered and sounded from the abyss of his soul; sounded like too long a bitter experience. A shade came over his eyes and turned his irises a dim grey-green. "There are many. So, so many people marginalised just like Roger is, and yet many more who don't do a thing about it and don't feel a thing for them.
"Our world is a dark place and we are an ugly race. These are cold days, darling. And it's impossible, yet still I wish..."
"...Sir?"
"I wish that we would only let them into our hearts, my dear."
The man turned and left, the smoke from his breath dissipating into thin air but the weight of his words sinking in. I watched him walk in the opposite direction of the evening crowd, his dark silhouette against the streaks of pastel orange and pink across the evening sky.
With finality, the sun bled out the last of its bright colours and the dark purplish-blue shades of twilight set in. Though night had not yet come, I saw a star - just one shining star - grace the semi-darkness with its presence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a time, I decided to walk with her - the lesbian - to the first lecture of the day. While coming out of the lecture theatre, we shared a joke. And when she laughed, her eyes sparkled, her shoulders straightened and her face glowed. Her laugh was an auditory hug, and she had the wittiest comebacks. Before we left for different classes, I gave her a hug.
That day, I learned her name - Margaret. Margaret Elizabeth Gray.
