As I was walking out of LRT station, I saw a very pitiful sight. An elderly Chinese man, about as old as my grandpa, sitting on the stairs facing the main road. His shirt was tattered, his shorts was worn out. He looked weak and frail.
When he saw me approaching, he stretched out his hand, holding a paper cup. It was empty. I dug into my jeans pocket. I had several pieces of coins, balance from what I paid for the LRT ticket. 80 sen to be exact. I knew that precisely because the ticket cost RM 1.20 and I paid with two pieces of RM 1 notes.
I grabbed whatever coins I could reach and put them in the paper cup.
“Tima kasih amoi.. tima kasih.. tima kasih..”
He said it repeatedly. His voice, so sincere. His face, so thankful.
I was in a rush, iftar was in a few minutes. Others were waiting for me, I didn’t want to be late. I just smiled and quickly continued walking.
After iftar and solat Maghrib, I went home. Took off my jeans. Turned the pocket inside out. A piece of 20 sen coin fell on the floor.
I only gave the old man 60 sen. Merely 60 sen. Yet he was so thankful.
I could have done better than 60 sen.
I should have done better than 60 sen.
Couldn’t help but to wonder, while I was enjoying scrumptious food during iftar, what was the old man eating?
Hopefully he got more than 60 sen that day.