All these were taken a year ago. I'm not sure why I'm posting them now either.
Maybe because I feel as random as this post, lost and unorganized.
Up till now, I'm still questioning my life's purpose and goals.
If pictures could speak, maybe the guy riding his bike would tell me his stories of his life at my age.
If pictures could speak, maybe the workers would tell me stories of the lives they left back home.
If pictures could speak, maybe the worshipers would tell me the stories of their fervent prayers.
But pictures are pictures. They show, not tell.
What I see is what I perceive, not their stories.
I witnessed a scene yesterday at a traffic crossing. I was curious but I dared not ask.
A child, crying while trying to explain why he did what he did to his mother.
A mother, raging and furious, pulling and pinching at the poor boy.
An elderly busker, went up to the pair. Shielded the boy from the mother with his body.
Bent down and spoke to the poor boy, whose whole body was heaving from sobs.
When the lights turned green, he placed the boy's hand in his mother's hand.
I wanted to thank the old man for restoring my faith in humanity.
I have a mouth but I could not find the words, nor the courage to speak.
He went back to busking. I took out a $2 note and dropped it into his donation box.
He wished me good health, and all I could say was thank you.
, by Wan Ying