I cannot understand the feelings of those who do not try to help even when I am seeking salvation and they have the capacity to do so

I am sitting on the cobblestones, hugging my knees.
People who could help me are passing by right in front of me.
No one reaches out a hand.

At that moment, someone quietly sits down and asks me a question.

"Do you want to know why they don't help?"

I nod.

Dostoevsky says, looking into the distance,
"People are sometimes barely able to endure even their own small sufferings.
Much less are they often prepared to carry the burdens of others.
Even so, knowing that, do you have the resolve to love people?"

I felt my chest grow warm as I remained silent.

Camus approaches from a corner of the square.
He speaks to me while folding a paper airplane.

"The world is absurd.
Just because you seek salvation does not mean you will necessarily be saved."

I shout, tearing up,
"Even so, if you can help, you should!"

Camus sent the paper airplane flying into the sky.

"There is no reason for righteousness.
It is just whether you help or do not help, that is all.
If you still want to help, you can remain true to yourself in this absurd world."

The paper airplane fluttered through the sky above the square.

A small, elderly woman gently reaches out to me.
Her hand was warm.

"People often choose not to help out of weakness.
But we do not live for numbers, but to save theoneperson right in front of us."

For the first time, I relaxed my shoulders just a little.
Mother Teresa continues with a quiet smile.

"When you seek salvation, there is always someone who will reach out.
But it may not be in the form you expect.
Therefore, you yourself must first become someone's hand."

I stood up.
While still carrying the pain of not being saved,
I stood up to reach out my own small hand to someone else.

Suddenly,
a small crying voice reached my ears.

In the corner of an alleyway.
A young boy in a dirty shirt is leaning against a wall, crying.

I stop in my tracks.
I try to call out, but I become afraid.

“It would be easier if I just pretended not to see and walked on by.”

A weak voice inside me whispers.
My heart aches.

Even if I help,
there is no guarantee I can do anything.
I might just end up getting hurt.

Even so,

Mother Teresa's words come back to me.

“It is not about numbers. It is about the one person right in front of you.”

I gently knelt down.

“...What's wrong?”

When I spoke to him, the boy looked up.
His eyes were red and swollen, and his face was a mess of tears and snot.

“No one would help me.”

My chest tightened.
I felt as if I were looking at myself.

“I am here.
I might not be able to do anything yet, but
even so, I will stay by your side.”

The boy looked at me with eyes that seemed to be seeing something unbelievable.

And then,
while crying, he gripped my hand tightly.

High above, a paper airplane fluttered through the air.