Personal Narrative: Becoming Homeless

As Greg blew into his saxophone, the sad song wafted out into the auditorium. He began to remember his past, his parents dying, him becoming homeless and finding a saxophone on the street and learning how to play it without no help, people throwing money in the bucket when Greg’s playing the saxophone. Thanking the man who heard him playing the instrument on the street and made him an artist, and making him the man he is today, the life he never expected. Going through all the incidents he went through his life, the bad times of him sleeping on the streets, no food, begging on the streets playing the saxophone. Greg is 45 today, it is Greg’s last concert and his birthday, he is dressed up in a black suit with a red tie, his bald head shining

In this paper, I will focus on the topic of why veterans are coming back homeless. Veterans are seen as a savior of the country they are risking their lives for every day, so why is it that they are coming back from tours and service and ultimately ending up homeless? Since 2009 the United States stated that in five years they would end veteran homeless, but the United States is still facing veteran homelessness in the year 2017. Though the homeless rates of veterans have gone down since then, why are veterans still facing homelessness if so many resources are supposed to be available for them. Is there more than meets the eye when it comes to homelessness especially with veterans, yes. Many things can attribute to this continuing issue such as lack of assistances provided, mental illnesses, PTSD, lack or loss of support from being deployed, the use of drugs and alcohol as coping strategies, and the economics.

The issue of homelessness is one that I can relate to all too well. About twenty five years ago I found myself among the homeless. My story is simple, I had no formal education and was working a job making minimum wage. I couldn’t keep up with my rent and other living expenses and was finally evicted from my overpriced apartment. At the time I was on a waiting list for public housing for which there was at least a two year waiting period. The fact that I was single, with no children did not help me either. For a while I lived on the streets and in shelters, too ashamed to approach what family members I had with my problems knowing that they were

Today, if we see a multitude of skin on the road settled, that there is nothing strange. In fact, according to The State of Homelessness in America 2013, 610,042 people were experiencing homelessness; as the result, we can see a significant number through that report. Due to that reason, many charities have been established to be able to help the homelessness. According to me, one of the charities that I appreciate is Thomas House which is an Orange County non-profit organization for homeless because it provide a safe, supportive environment and the resources necessary for homeless families with children while empowering them to become independent and self-sufficient.

We currently have over a half a million people, a quarter of which are children, living on the streets. Those are numbers we should all feel ashamed of, god knows I do, which is why I have taken in so many over the years. But, even as your beloved Dictator, I can't take them all in personally, so we're going to have to do this wholesale. Now, before we begin, I want to address a few things about being homeless.

Miranda C. Watkins usually I send a private email to those who are leaving the Homeless Program... in my 19 years of working here, truly I find joy in getting to know and work with you. We built a trust that I pray will last for years to come and hopefully out paths will one day cross again...

As a child, I grew up many places, my dad’s old job moved us around a lot. I was born in Hayward, Ca. and moved to Red Bluff as a baby and stayed until I was like 5 or 6. Then I moved to Taylor, Arizona and lived there until I was 8. I moved to The Dalles, Oregon and turned 9 shortly after, we lived at the very top of Oregon, right next to the Washington border. I could see Washington driving down certain streets, but by the time I was 10 I had been somewhat homeless. I lived in a car with my 3 other siblings and parents for a month or so. It wasn’t like it was horrible, we never slept in the car. We stopped at motels and we drove highway 101, because we were struggling and the beach solves everything.

As a kid I had always lived in well diversified areas. I didn't care who you were or what you looked like, I was raised to treat everyone the same. I wasn't personally exposed to the idea of inequality until I was in middle school. I had always imagined that everyone just had jobs and lived their daily lives. I didn't quite grasp the extent of the idea that people can die, be homeless, be criminals, or racists. I also didn't grasp how great the people of our society can be. That was until my parents told me about the first times they had in America coming from Mexico. I don't remember what I said or did to provoke these stories, but they were surely eye opening.

Personal Statement Fourteen and homeless is where I found myself four years ago. My mother (a hard working single parent of two.) set sights for a better living situation in the big apple. Unfortunately with one suitcase, no money and two young children the only choice for my mother was to seek refuge in a homeless shelter. Contrary to popular belief, that growing up homeless could potentially harm a child, it has had a positive impact on my life while being a reminder of the humble beginnings I came from. Growing up homeless assisted in building my character, a blood thirsty determination to achieve, and self awareness.

As a kid, I never really paid attention to what blessings were, in fact, it didn't even cross my mind. I grew up in a small house, with my parents and my sister. We loved to walk around a lot and most of the time we would come across homeless people. It was like a routine of ours that we would always give back to the people less fortunate. I remember as I was walking one day with my mom, we came across an old homeless lady and my mom gave her 20 dollars. We were lucky enough to have that much change left after shopping for food and we decided it would be kind to give it to someone else, but this lady was very different from most homeless people. She had bright neon pink nails, gray hair that would create an ombré effect almost as if she got it done, she took the money we gave

:In 2018, being a foreign corespondent has become a ruthless job due to war and poor economic stability across the world, yet it’s still a rewarding career that pays good money and lets you and other people see the world with their own set of eyes, so the real question is how will I do this ruthless but rewarding job well, I will do it by taking footage on the ground or taking photos of the battle or what I am seeing with my eyes on the field. But also I will most defiantly make sure that I am unbiased on the field and treat the audience and the footage with unbiased accuracy and determination no cherry picking out little things that I don't like to show the audience. and so that the people that I am on their side

It was a bright and sunny day in Downtown Iowa City. I limped my sore, broken down body between the alleys, craving the shade of buildings to get some time out of the beating hot sun. I can sense the wondering eyes of many people immediately lock into mine as I walk onto the busy sidewalk. I get paranoid and overwhelmed thinking of everything people could potentially be thinking about me. I have never been the type to care of what others think of me. That is only until I made my ways to becoming homeless. ¨You are just a druggie who can’t keep a job,¨ many have shouted at me. Funny thing is they don’t know is why I am even here in the first place. I ran away when I was 16. My Dad abused my Mom, two little sisters and Me. I’ve been

As I walked out of the airport into new territory, I could immediately feel the change in atmosphere. The air once chilled from morning dew, had turned into radiating heat from the cement and metal structures in the evening sun. As I looked out in my jeans and tee-shirt, I felt out of place. I was surrounded by the 8.55 million people who populate New York City. Each person with their own style and demeanour. As I walked down streets in search of the correct subway stop with my church group, everyone could tell that we were tourists. We were lugging our impossibly heavy suitcases through the streets, down the unforgiving stairs, and onto the crowded subway. After walking up and down what felt like hundreds of steps and changed subway trains

I want to be remembered as someone special. I want everyone to remember who I was. I want to be an actress, so I would like to have the legacy like most hollywood stars have, but not the infamous kind. I want to be remembered as someone who helped others. I don’t want to be the person who goes and spends their money just on fancy cars, or houses. I want to take what I have, and use it to help others.

My friends often describe me as a cynic and a pessimist. For the most part, they're right. Sentiment loses value when it permeates one's attitudes and behavior just as the value of a commodity decreases as it becomes ubiquitous, so as a rule I reserve expressing sentiment for rare occasions that I deem worthy. Fortunately, even the harshest cynics are surprised sometimes.