Reality Check

When I dropped by my host-mother's store today, I was met by a homeless person. He was completely drunk. He just sat on the sidewalk and stared off into the distance. Flies swarmed his face. One foot was bloody with cuts. He wore a thicket, dark jacket, even though it was well above 90. He had no teeth, a scraggly beard, and blood-shot eyes. My host-mother called the police. They arrived after about half an hour later. I asked Olga, "What are the police going to do with him?" "They'll take him somewhere else?" "And what then?" "He'll just sit in another place." And I sat there in the store, having stuffed myself with tvorog (a Russian pastry), blini, salad, and soup. I felt like vomiting it all back up. How can one be so indifferent to such suffering? A few hours have passed since this encounter, and nothing has changed. That man is no doubt lying in a park somewhere craving his next drink. I'm sitting in front of my laptop, worrying about my future, my needs, my wants, my career. Life just continues along. Sometimes I find this fact very difficult to deal with in the face of such misery.