Last Saturday, May 20, a man was “discovered unresponsive around 4:30 p.m. at the Texaco gas station” in San Marcos.
His name was Nawin Risal.
http://kxan.com/2017/05/21/police-man-found-dead-at-san-marcos-gas-station/
A profoundly soft-spoken and tender man I met for the first time on October 2, 2016. A Nepali, a father, an immigrant. He said, he grew up in Nepal and India. Took over the family jewelry business, ran it for 22 years. Wife moved to America and divorced him. Came here in 2011 looking for a fresh beginning. Homeless mainly because his IDs and green card and bank cards were lost or stolen on September 18, 2016.
Had a heart attack. Was beaten up.
Every time I saw him over the next month or so, we’d catch up, and I’d learn a little more about his horrors of living homeless. I watched him struggle to regain footing in a country that is ostensibly famous for enabling it.
I hadn’t heard from him or seen him since November. Then, his daughter commented on the original story I wrote with the news.
What hurts me so much is this—I know that, had I not talked to him, his death would mean nothing to me except the regretful loss of a homeless man. Now, I feel the loss of a person as imbued with hopes as you and me. This loss, it hurts.
And they don’t know what killed him. It could have been another heart complication, it could have been poisoning, it could have been murder, it could have been suicide. All I know is that Earth is one brave, flawed soul less. And Nawin deserves to be mourned, and even though there will be no elaborate funeral and GoFundMe pages, I’m thinking of him. Please join me in thinking about him.
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