I tried to hide

The bus stopped at the intersection under construction for about an hour. A little girl stepped onto the bus. She wore a white kurta with black design embroidery, green pants, and a layer of dirt over a tired face.

She approached everyone with a piece of paper explaining her plea, so she can ask for money in silence, to hide her shame as she conducts what is considered the lowest form of labor, begging.

Unable to express anything, except for the exhaustion in her face, she moved toward me. I scramble. You see I too was trying to hide, then realizing my efforts were futile, I scrambled for something to pay off my shame, my shame for fearing to face her plea.

It is complex, giving her money probably is feeding a much larger beast. I might be becoming part of the bigger problem.
But I worry, is this child going to eat tonight?
So I give, at the very least, some change.

I feel justified having given some sort of offering, some sort of sacrifice, to cover my own shame. Shame for the fear I felt as she stepped on the bus to shatter my peace. Shame for the fear I felt for having to confront her and look into her weary eyes knowing I'll go home to a nice bed and full belly tonight. Shame and guilt for fearing to help.

And so I gave, because I wanted to change.