Constructing Reality

Some days I’ll find myself caught on the strings of memories and the form of my ideas becomes clearer, I can see an individual strand of experience holding together an idea of how life is, this memory being one such strand.
It was a beautiful trip, although I was only five years old I remember bright colours and kind people. I still have a wooden sun hanging on my bedroom wall from a market. It winks at me mischievously as I write this, the adventurous spirit of Thailand calling from it. However the moment I remember most from that trip wasn’t of adventure, It wasn’t seeing an elephant for the first time at the wedding, or when my uncle bit right into a chili pepper on the table and immediately began sweating and swearing, (Later telling everyone, “Do not eat these.” Then for some ungodly reason promptly eating another) No, it was during a taxi ride.
I couldn’t tell you where we were going or why, all I remember is city lights on a humid night in Bangkok, pushing myself up on the arm rest to see out the window, and catch a breeze.
That’s when I saw him. He looked old, probably in his seventies, face lined like worn leather boots. He held a white tin mug in his hands, Mickey Mouse waving on the side, his languid gaze sweeping the street. The poverty wasn’t what had struck me though, it was his gnarled hands. The end of his fingers were missing, he barely grasped the cup he was holding forward. I noticed his bare feet were the same. They remind me of a piece of ginger, stunted and knobby. He looked complacent and withdrawn from the busy stalls he sat before, like he was haunting the street rather than living in it. He sat curled on a dusty curb leaning on a bright advertisement and I stared, wide eyed, while we passed. It was all within seconds, but the imprint was instant.
I turned to my mother and began questioning her fervently, what was wrong with that man? Could we go back? She explained to me that he was poor and he was a ‘leper.’ I didn’t understand why she wasn’t as perturbed by the deformed beggar. I felt like the world had shifted and I didn’t like the dizzying feeling it left. It would be years before I’d understand what I’d seen, although the same sick feeling will still rise when I think of it. It was a fleeting glimpse into something I still strive to understand. Most people can’t tell you the exact moment they realized there is extraordinary suffering in the world, but for me it was in a taxi when I was five years old.