It has always struck me as strange the way some of us in the journalism trade would always be so very concerned about some social injustice or societal issue.  What was strange about this was that this concern was, more often than not, not followed up with a concern to heighten public awareness on these issues, which, supposedly kept us awake at nights.

Perhaps, the strangeness of it all could be more accurately described as follows.  There would be a group of journalists gathered, let’s say- near the water cooler. We would be involved in a heated discussion on some issue such as child sexual abuse, animal abuse, teen on teen violence or faltering politicians.  We would say that things needed very much to change or improve. Then, at the end of the discussion, we would trot away, quite dejectedly, as if we weren’t very perfectly poised to effect change.

When I decided to take not only myself but others seriously, I was keen on avoiding the water cooler lifestyle.  One of my biggest fears as a reporter/features writer was, and still is, being content. I have seen what being content and in rhythm with the status quo does to minds, which doubtlessly, were once fevered with thoughts to better the world. Being in rhythm means questions go unasked, burdened as they are by shrugs and a “well, that’s how it is in this place” or a “well, no one else asked about that.” Unexplored angles of a story remain unexplored because they involve too much work or a superior nearby breathed that it was necessary to wrap this one up before such and such a time.

Before realizing it, and some time before deciding to take to taking myself and others seriously- I’d begun getting out of rhythm. Maybe it all began with that first article I attempted to do on a particular homeless man.  Maybe, I really began caring very much then. The man was very much a character known and gossiped about by many on the island. There were various stories about just how he ended up on the streets.  In his own rights, like others like him, he was an island celebrity- known by many as the vagrant that always has rubber bands wrapped so very tightly around his fingers.

I hunted him down. It seemed he had done the impossible- disappeared on such a very small island.  Some would remember seeing him just last month. Others would suggest that he was bound to reappear the next month.  Quite a few suggested that I try the “Crazy House”. The more I searched for him, the more he became more than a topic to me.

Initially, I was just interested in getting him to talk to me, like he had promised three years prior when I was still a hard news writer.  Back then, he had stood me up, after promising an interview.  When I discovered him sometime after that, he informed me that he had some business to attend to and so had to miss our meeting that day. I was leaving the news company at that time and so let him off the hook.  But now, I was back and curious about homelessness. How could they live like that without a roof over their heads and at the mercy of kind and unkind strangers?

As time marched on and my search for the homeless man proved futile, I thought about him more and more each day.  I thought about him when the rains poured and I was inside a house- sheltered and warm. I thought about him when the sun was merciless and I could escape to a fan or inside an air-conditioned office.  I thought about him whenever a worried family member checked up on me to see if, as they would put it, I was still in the land of the living.

I don’t know what I was expecting.  But, it was no longer about the story. I just wished to talk to this man who was jolly despite his circumstance. For some reason, I felt responsible for him and thought if I found him and he was fine, somehow, all would be made right in my world- personally and professionally....

Coming Next Tuesday #10: The Mission Continued.