Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and wondered: “Who is that staring back at me?” I had that moment a few days ago. Within the turmoil of my family and stress of two jobs and school I found myself wondering who, what, where, why, and how. A small set of five questions drilled into our minds since childhood and yet still relevant. Bad decisions as of late have left me feeling broken, even my faith was shaken by my foggy vision. I felt like I was peering at a dental dam wondering if I should lick it believing a beautiful woman’s vagina was on the other side. But the realization of fact that a gay mans asshole could also be on the other side, and taking into account the amount of personal adds on Craigslist I would say that the latter is far more likely. Now I ask you all, who would not lick it at least once just to see if you got the lucky super model dental dam.
It is chances like this that I find makes us human beyond anything else. We take chances even if the odds are against us we have hope that we will be the one lucky person who will prevail and come out on top. Yet again and again we try and fail. Always being stepped on by someone else who got the super model and we are stuck with asshole breath for the rest of the day. A bitter sullen look on our face and a hunch so great Notre Dame called about a job interview.
This brings me to the feelings we have about our self worth. I currently went on a drive at 3AM in an attempt to confuse my insomnia, where I then found myself cruising through old Abbotsford our beautiful heritage center and home to our local pushers, prostitutes, and homeless thank you city hall. This is where I saw young men and women sleeping in door frames, under trees, and anywhere else that would keep them from the icy rain.
Now I know I am a privileged person. Even if my meager income keeps me deep below the poverty line I have family who help support me, no crippling addictions, and two jobs that allow me to eat. This is where I met Annie, a young lady who asked me for a smoke at a stop sign. Not being a smoker myself could not oblige her, and in true Canadian fashion I apologized for being unable to aid her in the destruction of her body. Following this short exchange of words were what shocked me the most. “Oh that’s k. So... how about a blow job”. Not at this point I am looking at her with eyes that were still trying to comprehend her bluntness. I have been propositioned at street corners before but never so bluntly. “I’m really good at it”. She continued. At this moment I felt my heart sink as I noticed the scratch marks on her neck and deep black caverns under her eyes.
I had assumed she was a homeless person, possibly a prostitute, but I had dismissed these thoughts as generalizations and assumptions. It took a moment as I watched her face, desperation was rampant over every line her young face should not have had. Father time had beat on this young woman with an extra rough stick. “How old are you?” was a sound that escaped me out of what seemed reflex. To my everlasting relief she stated she was twenty two. I could grasp to the illusion that child prostitution was only in other cities just a little bit longer. Curiosity is a bitch if you let her hands wrap around you. Tight sinewed fingers wrap around your neck until only her voice can escape in whispers. “How much?” I found my heart pounded against my chest faster than my hand had ever pounded against my dick. I believe now that this is something all sane people wish to ask, but only those who’s limitations are currently warped or fractured would ever dare ask, speaking strongly for what kind of mind I have. “Twenty maybe forty”. Was my answer. This was the moment where I could only dare think of the possibilities before me. A hooker is something many teenage boys dream about, young men joke about, and middle aged men have shame for.
A young girl before me willing to do anything to get her next hit. Shivering and wet in the icy rains of early October, and a young insomniac watching her with sullen eyes. I have never understood the angel and devil on your shoulder until this moment. When my mind was literally torn in half. On the one side I wanted to take the girl to the most holy of ground and consecrate her until she could live a true and happy life, whereas the other half wished to defile the flesh and cast all that I have worked for to the wind. Many times we will face such crossroads, and not all will be diverged in a woods. Most will be found as a T junction of polar opposites and you find yourself sprinting full speed towards the wall with the hounds of hell on your heels. I looked at her one more time and made my decision. “Get in” I told her. She scurried around and hopped in with a bit of a saddened look on her face she never once made eye contact with me. Fiddling with my radio I found myself listening to a crappy rap version of Daft Punk as she stared at the floor. She didn’t even notice when I stopped the car and tuned to face her.
I have seen faces of hopelessness before, but her eyes were worse. There was nothing there. She desired nothing, looked forwards to nothing, there was no future in her, only the now. “Hold out her hand” I told her, she complied as quickly as a well trained collie gets the master’s paper. I handed her a burger that I had bought for myself moments before I went into the backwaters of my beloved city of saints and sinners. I told her to stay, warm up, and eat. I believed I enjoyed a Macdonald’s burger, but I’ve never seen one consumed as though it was the most delicious meal in existence. We sat silent while she rubbed her arms and warmed up via my conditioning system. “So, about that blow job.” she broke the silence, and I wasn’t sure what to make of her. I stopped the car in the same area I picked her up and handed her the forty dollars I happen to have on me, and said to make sure she ate something with it. My heart still pounded against my chest as she left my car and disappeared behind a building I had to convince myself was a secret portal to Narnia and not a crack house. I made my way home pondering the happenings of that night.
Which brings me to self worth. We find ourselves always wanting more. Never happy with what we have. My life has been shit for the last three days and yet this woman has nothing. She lets men ravage and rape her body for pocket change and I believe I have it hard. What right do I have to complain. Where do I get off wallowing in my own self pity. And where the hell do you readers get off agreeing with me. Think about the last time you called into work “sick” because you wanted to go to the beach. Or just didn’t want to face your boss. What about that young girls boss who probably backhands her every time she doesn’t come back with enough money. When was the last time you made eye contact with a homeless person. Or do you just look away, or at the ground as they ask for measly change. We sit upon our lazy boys, and black leather sofas and bitch about our four percent high interest rate accounts only swelling our wallets a little.
We should not pity the people who have addicted themselves, willingly or not, to a substance that now controls their lives, but instead we should seek to understand them. Seek to reach them. North America throws enough food away in one day to feed all of the poverty stricken world. It costs roughly 4 billion to feed every person in the world for one year. Yet the United states spent 1.46 trillion dollars on the military in 2008. BC ferries saved 2 million dollars a year by eliminating one olive from each of their high end salads. Now I don’t know about the rest of you but if I could sacrifice an olive from my salad to save a couple million people from starving I think I could handle that. Hell take out the feta cheese too, and the cucumbers. There I’ve personally just fed an entire village in Africa. What have you all done?
Next time you pass a homeless person don’t scuff them. Don’t look away. Make eye contact and ask how their day has been. If you can spare five minutes in your busy schedules grab them a burger or coffee to help them feel a little less empty inside. Many of these men and women have had shit every day of their lives and know nothing else. A little love from the rest of world could change a persons life. And though I don’t believe I have done anything significant for Annie I can go home and know that I have tried, and that is good enough for me. So I ask all you readers one more time. Now listen closely I don’t have a siren to sing this out for you.

What have you done?