Personal Narrative On Homelessness

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.

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.

If there has been some obstacle or bump in the road in your academic or personal life, please explain the circumstances.

In my life, I have always felt that I was different from other people, that I was meant for a Greater purpose. During the summer of my freshman year, I got a indication of that. Something unexpected happened and it hit me like a freight truck. The mere thought of it made my knees weak,my heart race and my mind scramble. Growing up, I always had fears but the presence of this phenomenon would Make the other fears look like fantasies. For the first and only time, I faced homelessness.

There’s no need for a rubbish introduction to start with. I hate my bus, full stop. No strings attached. To be totally honest, there are no positives at all in this presentation. So if you are one of those people who think that there is a good in everything, I suggest that you stop reading this and continue with your life. Goodbye!

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

It’s so still here, so quiet, so peaceful. I walked past rows of gravestones as I finally approached the site where my relatives lay. To many, visiting their relatives in a cemetery can be a sad experience; I however, was happy for them, because they still gathered together as they had before. I smiled as I remembered those times, when I was but a child and I could just barely see over the table. I could hear their talking and laughter again. How warm and familiar it all was! I remembered how laughter would erupt after my father told a good joke – he was always telling jokes. I could even smell the feast my mother and aunts would cook for us, and could almost feel them slapping my hand as I tried to sneak a piece of turkey before the meal. I remembered sitting at the smaller table with my cousins and siblings, feeling as if I were too old to sit at the kid's table. I remembered feeling left out, as if the adults kept some kind of grown-up secret from me. That same feeling I felt again, as I stood there seeing them all lying as they used to sit, in those two long rows. Although I had grown to be an adult, they still seemed to keep some secret from me, one that I was not to know of yet, one that I am not ready yet to

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.

I'm a African-American boy named Marlon and I'm homeless. I walked from Chicago to Cleveland, Ohio. Then I encountered the garden, the Seedfolk garden, that everyone was talking about here was food that can I eat for a year or two.I tried to steal the food but someone approached me and I ran with some food he said “hey you!, I keep running to safety he chase me down I ran faster and food was dropping off me. I got caught and he said “why are you stealing are food” I said “get off of me!’’ he didn’t mean no harm. Then, I saw hundreds of people in the horizon I was shocked I was silent as the sky the man put me down and he said look at them they all used to be like you now they're all a family. I said wow soo much people. Finally, someone

One situation that I remember was when I personally saw a man, sweating and walking around in the heat, had passed my family and I will we were pulling out of our driveway. The man was obviously thirsty so as he was walking away I yelled for him to come over and I had given him to cold water bottles that were mine. He also said if I had any food and I actually had a small load of bread that I was eating, so I gave it to him. I told him that I was sorry I had nothing else to eat, but he humbly said thank you either a big smile on his face.

Halo smiled, "I think you are like me, all you know is hard times and it's hard to imagine anything else. Even when I was happy with my boyfriend, I still had all the sorrows of my home life. After I found Mom dead, it was like I was free, but the sad stuff doesn't go away. I feel like I have all this tension built up in me and there is no way to get it out."

“You call this progress, because you have motor cars and telephones and flying machines and a thousand potions to make you smell better? And people sleeping on the streets?” I remember traveling to Devon Avenue in Chicago for my family’s yearly trip on the festival of Eid. It was the middle of winter and the weather was unforgiving. At this time, I was about thirteen years of age. I met a homeless man in Chicago, and our exchange, however brief, had a long lasting effect on my socio-political views. When I spoke with him, I realized that no one deserved homelessness. This put me on the track to picking up a copy of the the Communist Manifesto.

Today was funeral day. My mom’s funeral. It was a dark October thursday, the clouds were brewing a storm. A slight breeze disturbed my neck. My uncomfortable suit sleeves bellowed in the cold breeze.. I hadn’t felt any emotions since the day of her death, which was weeks ago, almost as if my emotion is grey. It was warm then, as my mind was too. Nowadays, up until today, my mind has been a dark fog, as if my mind was released into the sky, darkening everyone’s day, arriving at my mom’s funeral or just to cuddle up with their friends and family in front of a warm crackling fire, telling the stories of their childhood and how times were better. Not me, my dad usually ignored me and he only worked on managing my mom’s fortune. Yeah. My mom’s

A burning sensation reverberated throughout my body, creeping up my spine and clenching the insides of my body. I tried twisting out of the bush but it was no use. The branches around me had engulfed me, leaving me to dry out in the scorching sunlight. Several months being stuck in the golden meadows under a suffocating sky of perfect blue was smothering me. The curse made me weak, I lost consciousness many times and having only one leg made from wood was useless. I closed my heavy eyelids and waited for another indistinguishable day to pass by.

I live in America relatively shortly. My neighborhood is quiet. There are many Polish and Spanish-speaking people. These are mostly elderly people or families with children. Until recently, the place was peaceful and safe. Unfortunately, a few months ago the situation changed radically. When the city bought unfrequented located near the hotel with the intention of transforming it into a shelter for the homeless expired tranquility of our surroundings. It is obvious that these people also have to live somewhere but why just close to the parks and the complex of the bar. What can cause such a neighborhood? The streets are more and more often people of questionable purity, burying in the trash and often scattering garbage around. The homeless