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Walking through the wet streets of Soho, New York, one afternoon, I spotted a crisp $5 bill lying on the ground. As there was no one around to claim it, I pocketed the cash and thought about buying a big cheeseburger.

As I made my way toward the 14th Street subway, however, I changed my mind. I ended up giving the cash to a hefty black man with red, bulging eyes, who was holding a cardboard sign that read, “Anything will help.”

Even though I was salivating for that burger, the $5 bill felt heavy in my pocket. Once I donated it, I felt the guilt from not having found its original owner lift from my shoulders.

But soon after, I spotted a Chinese man playing a violin and immediately wished I had given him the money instead. Was it because the violinist was Chinese and the first beggar was black? Was it because the Chinese man was working, playing music for his alms, while the other simply stood with a sign in hand?

A white woman in a book about UN workers writes that while she was stationed in Rwanda post-genocide, she felt nothing when her gaze landed on the corpses of the Rwandans around her.

But her reaction was different when she was stationed in Bosnia. She admits that it was because the bodies in Bosnia were white. It reminded her that it could have been her mother, sister, grandmother, even herself, lying there on the ground, dead and discarded. Perhaps, on a smaller scale, I shared a similar sentiment for poverty-stricken Asians, as I also am Asian.

I’ve come across my share of beggars in my travels and each country’s pauper differs from the next. New York City is filled with men, both black and white, hanging around subways or park benches.

In Paris, I have spotted many immigrant women asking for charity, carrying their infants with them, from the former French colonies of Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco.

Often slumped in front of fast food joints and shops down London’s popular shopping strips are plump couples who beg while chatting on cellphones and munching on McDonald’s burgers.

But when I encountered my first Chinese beggar in San Francisco, I was shocked. The Chinese are one of the world’s most industrious races. I had forgotten that misfortune does not choose its victims and that judging someone was easy when I am not in their shoes.

Things are different in Asia. Sometimes, poverty is all you can see on the streets in places like Calcutta, Karachi and Jakarta. In most of Asia, unemployment benefits are unheard of.

Growing up in Indonesia, it is very easy to become desensitized to poverty because it is everywhere.

But after all these years, I’m still not quite immune, especially when the person begging is a small Indonesian child, singing a lamentable song. I share a similar thought with that UN worker — that could have been me.

So how do I relieve my guilt for not being one of the have-nots? What’s the right thing to do? Give money when I feel like it? Give it only to Asians because I’m Asian?

When I was little and didn’t understand the value of money, I gave $5 to a beggar in Sydney, much to my mother’s horror. Now I know better. I know which countries provide unemployment benefits. I’m also aware that Asia’s beggar children are often part of a street mafia ring and that the kids won’t be the ones benefitting from my generosity.

I was raised to be charitable. Every major holiday would see my mother frantically organizing used clothes and sembako (nine necessities for daily living) to donate to the poor.

Should I give beggars on the street food or clothing as well? But these are items I don’t normally have on hand when I go about my day. It’s not as if I leave the house each morning with the thought of meeting a beggar.

In the end, I swallow my guilt at giving nothing and look straight ahead, walking past them as if I don’t see them at all.

Perhaps there is no politically correct thing to do. Perhaps the only humane thing is to acknowledge another’s existence, even if only to say, “Hello. I’m sorry, but I have nothing to give you.”

Titania Veda writes a weekly column. She is a former features reporter at the Jakarta Globe.