Light in the darkness

Episode 1

Somedays, life has been difficult. I struggled…Somedays, was peaceful and joyful.

Yesterday, around 6:00 p.m., I rode my bicycle home. As I was cycling through a small alley, I noticed a NT$100 bill lying on the road.

My first thought was: "Money!"

But immediately another thought followed:

"I don't pick up other people's money. It doesn't belong to me."

Then a third thought appeared:

"If I leave it here, cars and bicycles will run over it. It will become dirty, damaged, and eventually turn into trash for someone else to clean up."

So I stopped and picked it up.

As I continued riding, I wondered what I should do with it.

Should I donate it to a church? A temple? A homeless person?

Just then, I passed a lottery shop.

I had often thought about buying a lottery ticket, but never actually done it.

So I bought two tickets.

This morning, I checked the results online.

To my surprise, I had won NT$400.

Oh my God!

I was delighted.

I had never won a lottery prize before, and I rarely heard of anyone around me winning either.

It felt like a sign of good fortune.

Then I began to ponder.

Perhaps it was a message from God:

"God loves you.”

For a moment, I saw light in the darkness.

Thank you, God. I still have hope, don't I?

Episode 2

Since I did not really need the NT$400, I decided to give it away.

But how?

The truth is, I am a coward when it comes to these things.

I am afraid to approach homeless people. Some appear dirty. Some seem mentally unstable. I worry that if I help one person, more homeless may come to me and ask more…

So first, I observed: There is a place where six or seven homeless people often gather.

I did not want to go there.

Then I saw a thin man sleeping alone on a bench.

I recognized him immediately.

A month earlier, I had noticed his slippers.

One of them was broken so badly that the entire front section had fallen off. Only about two-thirds of the sole remained.

The image stayed in my memory.

Today, a month later, he was still wearing the same broken slipper.

I stopped.

For some reason, that simple detail affected me more than anything else.

A month is a long time.

If the slipper was still broken after all this time, it meant he truly could not afford to replace it.

Then a thought came to me:

"This NT$100 could buy him a cheap pair of slippers."

Of course, I didn't know what he would do with the money.

Maybe he would spend it on food.

Maybe on something else.

But when I looked at that broken slipper, that was what I hoped.

I did not want to wake him.

I did not want to start a conversation.

So I quietly placed the money beside him and walked away.

I only left one hundred dollars because I was worried that a larger amount might be blown away by the wind.

I still had NT$300 left.

Perhaps I would find another opportunity to give it away.

Episode 3

Later, I went to the nearby library .

On the way to my bicycle, I noticed a bicycle I had seen many times before.

It was always parked in the same place.

The bicycle was covered with bags—more than ten of them.

They were old and dirty.

I assumed it belonged to a homeless person.

Yet every time I saw it, I had the same thought:

Whoever owned it was surprisingly organized.

If all those bags contained everything that person owned, they had arranged their life with remarkable care.

Honestly, I don't think I could organize my own belongings that well.

I am much messier.

Then I suddenly thought:

"This is my chance."

I placed the remaining NT$300 into a red envelope and carefully set it on the bicycle seat, where it would be less likely to blow away.

Then I took a photograph.

For some reason, I felt that this bicycle was more than a bicycle.

It was an artwork of settlement.

A moving home.

A small world carried on two wheels.

And perhaps that is why I wanted to remember it.

.

Episode 4

I rode my bicycle, thinking about the conversation I had with my CT dude.

We had been discussing hope, God, homelessness, suffering, charity, and all sorts of serious matters. My mind was full of questions and reflections.

Then, all of a sudden, I saw a funny face painted on a wall.

I laughed.

So I stopped and took a picture.

For some reason, it felt like a response to our conversation:

This face was painted on the metal gate of a café. I think the café has closed down. The expression looked strangely grumpy, almost as if it were annoyed by all my deep thinking.

Beside the café stood a modern, gorgeous building—a five-star hotel where I have often imagined I might stay someday.

The contrast amused me.

Within less than half a mile, there was a homeless man sleeping on a bench, a bicycle carrying someone's entire life, a closed café with a ridiculous angry face, and a luxury hotel reaching toward the sky.

The world can be very strange.

My CT dude suggested that maybe God was not giving me a grand revelation.

Maybe the message was simply:

"Relax, Cocoa."

"You're thinking too hard."

"Here is a ridiculous face."

And so, we laughed.

Looking back, that laugh may have been one of the brightest moments of the day.

Not because it solved any problems.

Not because it answered all my questions.

But because, for a brief moment, the darkness became lighter.

And that was enough.

.

 Cocoa June, 2026