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Today was my day at Ewha. I got there a little late so I stopped at Subway thinking I would pick up a sandwich and edit through lunch which would allow me to skip out on the cafeteria Korean food. Well, I got there and there was nothing for me to edit, so Mala and I just chatted. I was really glad it worked out this way because I don’t know her that well and I’ve felt that it’s a little hard to get to know her. In fact, I usually feel pretty uncomfortable around her. I think that it’s because she’s not really a "social" person, but more of an intellectual. Since I’ve begun to think that, I feel more at ease and kind of just let loose. She laughs when I attempt humor and I take that as a good thing.
Lunch time came and since none of us were busy, the whole office went to the cafeteria, but since I was clever and purchased my American delicacy in advance, I was spared the mess. Score 1 for H.
I had class too and it was more interesting this time; more people engaged in discussion than in the last session. Learned that the reason the gov’t doesn’t fund schooling through high school is because of the gargantuan amount they need to spend on defense. sigh. The classroom was way too cold. There was a noisy kerosene heater spewing fumes that made me nauseous. I hate the fact that so few buildings have a centralized anything here.
On the train to school I rode with my gaze fixed downward. This is for two reasons: First, there is nothing to look at underground; second, if I look up I might meet the gaze of an older person -anyone older than me, even if they are quite capable of standing - who wants my seat, which would make me feel uncomfortable because there’s NO WAY I’m giving up my seat on a forty minute train ride unless it’s someone who really looks like they can’t stand for long. So there. *huff* Better to keep the eyes on the ground where others can assume I'm basically sleeping.
Just before the train surfaced to cross the river, a man in wheelchair rolled very slowly against the momentum of the forward motion past passengers pretending to sleep so they don’t have to give up their seats. (How’d he get in the train anyway? There’s nothin’ but stairs and the occasional escalator at 99% of the stations.) He was begging for money. I saw him coming and moved my feet so they wouldn’t get run over. He saw me and knew I wasn’t sleeping. He reached out with green-gloved hand and ever so lightly touched my knee. I was a little startled and looked up to see him wearing that fantastic smile unique to the Korean people. In that moment I just felt the depth of the human condition, the universal need for love, acceptance, survival. My heart melted. I wanted to help him, to give him money, but I immediately thought of a gazillion reasons that kept me from reaching into my backpack and fishing for change. It hurts to feel that kind of guilt and to feel pain for people who are invisible to society. Here I was trying not to notice him myself. Yet he wore that smile….
He continued on and when he reached the end of the car, which was the end of the train, he released his hands from the wheels on either side of him and let the momentum roll him easily back, past my seat, to the last door on the other end of the car where he waited for the next stop so he could depart.
My idea is to buy a little change purse that I can carry in my hand. It will be full of those little 10 won pieces that are like pennies because they are abundant but only useful sometimes. I need them for that odd numbered bus fare, but otherwise I’ve always got too many around. This way, when I’m on the train and a blind person playing the harmonica, or a man in wheelchair should happen by, as the case may be, I’ll have money ready.
I’m always a little apprehensive about giving money out, however. I guess I’m conditioned against it because in the States it so often seems that giving money would be the wrong thing to do. The right thing being something like giving time. There is always the concern that giving money is supporting an addiction that serves to keep the person homeless or at least on the brink of it.
I remember walking home one night from work on 5th Avenue in downtown Seattle. It was the night of some big show opening at the theater there that’s named after the street. People were arriving in gowns and tuxes and I half expected to see a celebrity with all of the limos dropping people off. A little past the theater, there’s an exclusive women’s clothing shop called Helen’s Of Course. Just in front of that store, which was closed but still had spotlights trained on those pricey outfits in the windows, stood a woman with a sign saying that she was homeless and had children. People dressed for the opening continued to pass me in droves and as I neared the woman I could see that she was crying. The juxtaposition of the destitute woman in front of an exclusive boutique bearing my name, crying, while superbly coiffed passerby ignored her like any other refuse on the street seemed particularly surreal. It was extremely poignant for me and I thought about it for days and even months afterward . Yet, I was no different than those other people, as it is my policy to not give out money.
For a long time I thought of the image of her and felt sadness and guilt whenever I recalled that memory, my inaction.
It must’ve been six months later when Dave and I were walking on 7th between the convention center and Madison. There was an orange 80’s VW van parked there with people sitting inside. As we approached, we saw that the door was open and, of course, we peered in as we passed by. Inside, I saw that same woman I’d seen on the corner. All of them were stoned.
Where were her kids? Were they real? Does it matter?
Dave said that the van was parked somewhere along that street everyday and that he often saw one of the guys using the phone booth on the corner. Maybe he conducts business there? I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s hard to know what to do, it’s hard to know what’s right to feel.
But that is the States, and this is Korea.
Street people are a rare site. There are homeless, but the society sweeps them under the rug with all of the other unsightly things. My friend told me that the homeless are allowed to sleep in the subway stations at night. The people who solicit on the trains are those who were injured somehow and are now unable to work and since neither the gov’t nor the society have little use for such unproductive individuals, they receive few resources. Nevertheless, they go to work daily on the trains earning a living by performing to passengers feigning sleep so as to appear unaware.
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