Today was just an ordinary day, like many other warm summer's day. The Newcastle high street is buzzing with people, going around from shop to shop buying things they need and things they want. I was among these people, shopping for gifts to my parents and siblings.
And among the throng, I noticed this young man, with a sleeping bag in his hands, a torn black track bottom and very well worn hoody. If you are familiar with British high street, you would have known that he is, a homeless person.
He was going from one person to another, approaching them, but as soon as he came near the people, he quickly back away again. He did not utter a single word to the people he approached, not even to ask for any coins.
It was as if he was on automatic mode, a walking human but with no soul. There was no discernible expression in his face. And in his eyes too, there is not a sign of life. Just staring into an empty space, as if it had died, after time and time again meeting people who choose to pretend he does not exist. Who choose to not look at him, the dirty person sleeping rough in the cold, on the floor among the shops, so they don't have to feel uncomfortable inside their heart.
Being ignored by the people he approached must have been like a knife cutting his heart little by little, killing him softly every time a person just looks the other way, or walks faster to avoid him.
I can only imagine what he feels inside, not being acknowledged by a fellow human being, that another human is in front of them, in desperation, but being completely ignored. It was as if, he is not a living breathing human, but a shadow, or a piece of rubbish on the floor, that does not require a second thought. 'I am nothing, I am of no value'.
I walked slowly, to see if he approaches me, so that maybe I can help, if only very little. But he did not. He walked further on, and I slowed down enough to walk alongside him.
And he spoke. The first word after what seems like a lifetime of silence. 'Can I have 60 pence mate, so I can get something to eat?'.
And I offered him. 'I can get you something to eat. Do you want anything?'.
'Yes please.' His voice was just audible, shaky, sounding uncertain. Being turned away by people so many times by may have that effect on us I guess.
I noticed that his previously expressionless face now light up. His eyes flickered a sign of life. Showing me that, underneath, someone is there. And someone is alive. It was as if a switch is turned on somewhere.
We walked to the nearest Greggs. In the bakery, I told him to get anything he wants, and as many as he liked. I asked if he's had anything today, just to see if he had eaten today, and came the heartbreaking reply.
'I haven't eaten for two days'.
He picked two sandwich. I offered him to take a third one, so he can keep it for the night or for tomorrow. He said no, he has enough now. A person who has not eaten for two days, refused to take more than what he needs.
He picked a bottle of soft drink after I asked if he wants something to drink, and at the counter he politely asked if he can get a piece of flapjack.
Before we went our separate ways, I tried to make sure he is getting the help he needs. I enquired whether he has contacted the council for help with housing.
'Yes, I have. They put me on the waiting list'.
Where do you sleep at night? He pointed towards a small lane between the blocks of shops.
'Do you have family?' I asked, in case he can return to stay with them. 'No, my parents died when I was small, and I have been in foster care since then'.
Okay, make sure you contact the Council, see if they can help you, okay?
'Yes, I am trying my hardest. Nobody wants to be homeless.'
'Nobody wants to be homeless.'
He is homeless, and today he taught me about the real meaning of being a human.
His soft, sad voice made it that bit harder to stomach. He taught me that in this country of unimaginable wealth among some people, there are still people without a roof on their head. That there is still a human being, just like us, going hungry for two days while there are so many foods and so many people indulging in it around him.
That in winter, there are still people dying on the street from hypothermia because they do not have anywhere warm to go to, while some of us are rich enough to escape the cold by jetting to warm countries, all on a moment's notice.
He showed me, when he refused to take more sandwich than he needs, that him, a homeless person, without anything to his name apart from the clothes on his back and the sleeping bag he uses to sleep in, is more dignified and is more human than the greedy bankers, tycoons, bosses of huge corporates, and the corrupt politicians who has everything, but still hankers for more, and willing to repress the people under them to get more and more.
Nothing, no amount of money, no levels of luxury is enough to these people. They have been slaves to the God of More. The temporary, superficial God of Materials.
He taught me to help any human being in need, regardless of their race, creed, faith, nationalities, skin colour, anything.
He put my life into perspectives. I was spending 80£ just today for some gifts that maybe thrown away after a few years of use, while he was only asking for 60 pence so he can get something to eat, after 2 days of hunger.
He taught me not to just assume that the homeless person are alcoholics, drug addicts, or mentally ill (hence allowing us to ignore them and pretend they are not our problem), but to see them as another human being, in a desperate situation, they do not want to be in. A situation they may not be able to escape.
I fed a homeless person today, but instead of feeling happy I did a good deed, it breaks my heart.
Be safe my brother. May God be with you, always and forever, and may I get the chance to see you in Heaven, where there is no more pain, hunger, cold and no more humiliation.
Northumberland Street, Newcastle upon Tyne. July 1st, 2013.
