The photograph I never took

While enjoying a cold beer on a terrace along Barcelona's Paseo de Gracia, a woman of small stature, fragile, with little hair and Asian features approached kindly, holding a paper cup. Although I wasn't certain of her exact origin, I assumed she was of Chinese descent. From that moment on, I affectionately referred to her as "the little Chinese lady," lacking a better description. I'm not very good at judging people's age, especially when it comes to someone of Asian origin.

I typically tend to reject those who suddenly approach me, almost accosting me on the street to ask for money. It's my initial reaction. Especially when I'm sitting on a bench or at a terrace, quietly lost in the storms of my mind as I relax. I usually politely excuse myself with a "no, I'm sorry" and continue with my own things. However, this time, something about her intrigued me and made me follow her journey among the tables. Despite the fact that most people barely dropped a few meager coins into her paper cup, something about her presence continued to hold my attention.

Her short stature, the improvised attire of rags sewn together, the crude crutch she used to support one of her legs and take unsteady steps, were visible at first glance. Her physical condition made her sway from side to side, which was truly touching. Seeing someone in such precarious conditions, asking for help with dignity, stirred something within me.

But even with all of that, all those aspects were not what drew my attention to her to the point of watching her all the time as she went from table to table. What caught my attention was her smile. It was a genuine smile, devoid of pain and resentment. Her smile wasn't just etched on her lips, but, most importantly to me, in her eyes. She smiled with her eyes. I know those smiles. They are the ones that touch me the most.

But this story doesn't really begin here. It starts the day before at the Barcelona train station. There, I found a 5 euro bill on the ground. How fortunate! I placed it in my pocket and would decide later how to use it. That same night, several thoughts crossed my mind about how to spend that money. One of them, which always lingers in my mind when I find money on the ground, is to give it to someone who truly needs it. Someone who is begging on the street. But I don't want it to be used to buy harmful or unproductive things, like alcohol. I decided to keep the bill in the pocket of my jeans in case I needed it. I was determined. I would find someone who would make good use of that bill, perhaps to buy food, for instance. It wasn't my money.

So, as I continued to gaze at the little Chinese lady, her smile kept me hypnotized. She would approach people, holding her cup, smile, and even if they didn't give her money, she continued, smiling, as she moved on to the next table. That's when I reacted and decided to get up, reach into my pocket, unfold the bill, and approach her. At that moment, a man was dropping some coins into her cup, barely looking at her, continuing his conversation with the person next to him. She nodded in gratitude and didn't lose her smile. When she turned around, she found herself face to face with me. I handed her the bill in her hand and said, "always keep that smile." She made a gesture as if not understanding. I thought she might not speak Spanish, so I said it in English, "Keep always smiling." She made the same gesture of not comprehending. It was then that she pointed to her ear and gestured a no. She was deaf. I didn't give up. I used my fingers to draw a smile on my face and pointed it at her. She smiled widely, with her eyes and her lips. She had understood. Not only did she thank me with a nod, but she also blew me a kiss. It touched my soul.

I returned to my chair and continued with my glass of beer. Not without keeping an eye on that smile that spread throughout Paseo de Gracia.

It moved me like no one ever had. I know she would put that humble 5 euro bill to good use.

At night, sitting on a bench on the same street, I saw her pass by again, hours later. She approached once more to ask for money, but she didn't recognize me. I drew a smile on my face, and she laughed and blew me another kiss. Then she came closer. She showed me a wound on her hand and explained with some difficulty that someone had thrown hot water on her, causing her harm. By her expression, I understood it wasn't an accident but something deliberate. It pained me deeply. She blew me another kiss and walked away, wobbling on her makeshift crutch. Her shoes were sandals covered with wide packing tape.

My companion and partner, Carlos Conde, was able to take a photograph of her while she was telling me about her hand.