The Good Samaritan and Judgmental Me


Last week I got the honor to be the driver, to drive my mom to my grandmother’s house. As I said, driving in Makassar really improves my cursing skill. Along the road I cursed and chatted, being used to the chaos of the traffic; I was at the point of not caring anymore.

When we stopped at the traffic, I saw a guy riding a motorcycle in front of our car. He reached for something in his front pocket, but seemed he couldn’t find what he was looking for. The traffic light turned green and I prepared to turn right, but the guy on the motorcycle didn’t move. He stayed there, still looking for something in his pocket without realizing that he should have moved instead. Well, I thought he realized, he was just “too busy looking for something in his pocket” and ignoring the green light.

So, at this point, my face was all like “What the f*ck? Move away!” I started cursing again. How could he? The traffic was going green and all he did was looking for some-f*cking-thing-that-maybe-not-even-important in his pocket! I mean, it might be just his mobile phone! Couldn’t he wait until he arrived at his place? Didn’t he even care about the long line of vehicles behind him? And as judgmental as I was, I immediately judged him as one of the irresponsible people who always do what they want to without giving a sh*t about others.

I honked and honked – so did all the other vehicles behind me – until the traffic light turned red again. Could you believe how mad I was? He made me – us – missed one green light because of only-God-knew-what. I looked at him grudgingly, wishing that I could make him felt guilty by staring at him. I saw that finally he found that something he was looking for in his pocket.

Then he did something that really surprised me. Guess what? He took that something from his pocket – apparently it was some money – and gave it to a beggar on the side of the road. Then he called an old poor guy who sold newspapers and gave him some money, too, without taking the newspaper. I saw the beggar and the newspaper-selling-guy immediately said a thankful prayer for the charity. The motorcycle guy didn’t say anything. Well, he looked back at the line of the vehicles behind him once, but no hatred or arrogance of “See? I am THE good guy” thing in his face. It was like he was just checking around.

So then there was me, sitting on the driver seat without saying anything. I couldn’t. I felt so bad and ashamed. I remembered when a few moments ago I was very angry at him and called him “one of the irresponsible people who always do what they want to without giving a sh*t about others”. I remembered when I cursed and honked and honked as loud as I could, not even caring that it must be annoying for him (well at that time I did that to annoy him of course). I remembered when I instantly judged him, even though I didn’t know anything about him, or what he was looking for in his pocket.

I felt bad. I really, really felt bad. Who was I to judge him? I recalled his face when he looked back; no anger or pride but simply tiredness. He wasn’t angry at me, he wasn’t angry being honked, he wasn’t proud of his good deed. And it touched my heart so. I had no right to judge him. I had no right at all, especially when in the end I was proven wrong. He was not “one of the irresponsible people who always do what they want to without giving a sh*t about others”. Instead, he was a generous guy who went along all the trouble of being honked and all only to give some money to those in needs. Yeah, maybe he was also a bit ignorant about the line of vehicles behind him, but I thought it’s okay since he had a very good reason for his ignorance. In a word, he was the Good Samaritan in this story.

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