The Sven Journal

Today I gave a man a sandwich.

Like most (or rather, many) people not from a city, I am very sympathetic to the homeless. When one is subject to seeing homelessness every day since childhood, they tend build an immunity; to see these people not as exactly that, people, but as lesser. Indeed, perhaps many of the homeless have made mistakes—and continue to—yet there are others are simply always in difficult positions.

I feel guilty passing by the homeless, as I never—really, never carry change. However, I still say hello. I am from a small town, where passing someone along the street is consistently met with a greeting. Of course, I can’t keep that habit here in Vancouver as there are far to many passerbyes, but when I see someone in need, the least I can do is say a hi. They are people. People say hi.

Today I gave a man my sandwich. He was alone, carried no sign, had but a toque and looked very cold. I passed, and he smiled. I don’t know what it was, but you could see the difficulties he faced in a second of looking at him. I greeted him and asked how he was doing. “Sun’s out today, thank God for that!” and he chuckled. I agreed with him, opened my bag, and handed him my tuna sandwich I spent a good 20 minutes making (it was a work of art). He took it cautiously, looked at me, and thanked me from the bottom of his heart. His smile stretched across the entire width of his rouged face.

“Have a great day, sir.”

“Thanks. You especially.”