Sad scene

My colleagues and I went to ta-pau (take-away) lunch at Golden Shoe yesterday. I was done first and so I waited from them at an area by the stairs.

An old man was putting up a collection tray right in the middle of that area. I thought he was going to ask for money.

He was probably in his late 50s or early 60s. He was wearing a white singlet, a pair of grey shorts and red wooden clog slippers. He was much tanned, maybe from working under the sun.

After he got his collection tray up, he started to shout in Mandarin, in a hoarse voice, saying: This is my signature song and dance, and it is about to start!

He started to hum the harmonica holding it with his right hand, and with his left hand he juggled to rubber balls. While doing that, the stomped around his collection tray making click-clack sounds with his clogs. I had to turn away.

I couldn’t stop the wave of sadness that welled up inside. As I looked at the pedestrians and the river over at the UOB towers I heard him shout again: This is my signature song and dance! Come look!

There was no tune, no melody. It was just cacophony and clickety-clack.

If he had thought it was entertaining: it was not. And if he knew it was not entertaining then he must have been conscious that what he really was asking for was pity (tong-ching). And that would have been the reason people give money.

That was why I would have given him money. I don’t buy tissues from blind men at $1.20 for three packets. I don’t give money to buskers.

I saw my colleague coming and took out my purse.

Nicole, let’s go! one said, and dragged me away. I didn’t manage to put money in the collection tray.

I did feel sad for the rest of the day and every time I see the scene in my mind.

The problem is bigger than what I could have given. But my $2 would have made a difference, wouldn’t it?