The Girl from Romania.

Two or three weeks ago I saw a new Big Issue seller in Ashbourne. She looked out of her depth, making no attempt to attract people’s notice but simply standing there and hoping that people would come to her. People don’t generally do that, so I decided to be the first. I offered her a £10 note which she said she couldn’t accept because she’d sold no copies and didn’t have any change. Fortunately I had enough small change in my pocket and was able to buy one anyway. She had a foreign accent so I asked her where she came from. She said she was Romanian.

I saw her again today in the same place, and the passing populace was still keeping its distance. She looked sad, maybe a little helpless, and possibly even friendless and far from home. I know I’m probably wrong, but that sort of perception provokes my sentimental nature into a call for action. I wanted to offer to buy her a coffee and sit with her for a few minutes. I wanted to ask her which part of Romania she was from, and why she had chosen to leave a country which seems so lovely, and where she had learned such a good command of English. I wanted to know her name, and hoped it would demonstrate that she was not alone and insignificant.

Ah, but then the impediments came flooding in. My gesture might scare her. She might fear that I’m a potential pest, a stalker, a nefarious opportunist of some sort, a psychopathic religious cult leader seeking to entrap her, even a sex trafficker, heaven forbid. She is a young woman after all, and not entirely without feminine charm. And so I smiled and walked on.

Was I wrong? It’s so difficult to know in the modern world where rank opportunists of the worst kind proliferate and ethical principles lie comatose. All I wanted to do was help, but could I persuade her of that quickly and certainly? And maybe she doesn’t want any help. Who am I to give vent to such an unwarranted presumption?

I don’t intend to give up though, not yet. Some things have to be left to the universe to decide, so I’ll keep my distance and watch out for the signs. It seems that I also need help in this matter, and sometimes I wish I was normal.