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Homeless and poverty
Reflection on homelessness
Poverty and homelessness introduction essay
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Reflexive Statement Sitting on a torn bus seat with music playing a little too loud while watching the world pass by is, for the most part, a warm memory for me. I went to a high school that was across town from where I lived. It was an hour and half ride that stopped every few blocks to collect one or two sleep deprived kids. We took the same route every day, crossing the same intersections and parts of the city at the same time. At 6:30 am, we would pass by a few of the homeless shelters on this side of town. I watched the mile long row of tents and sleeping bags set up on the sideway passed by almost every day for years. I would watch and try to count them as we went passed. I only every got to about 35 before the speed of the bus blurred everyone into one. Then I would promptly forget they were then until the next morning, where I would try again to take a head count. …show more content…
I was curled up in my warm blankets listening to the wind throw a tantrum outside. I thought about how much I hate wind, hoping that it would die down by the time I had to head out for school. I think suddenly thought about tents and sleeping bags on the sideway. I wondered how they were doing at that moment. I wondered if they were warm and how they were faring in the wind. I wondered how they ended up there and who’s to blame. I wondered why there wasn’t an easy solution. The next morning, as the bus approached the camp, instead of counting the tents and sleeping bags, I tried to look at their faces and reflect on how they got
When I was about 10 years old, my mom took me to a roller coaster theme park in Massachusetts. I was terribly afraid of the huge roller coaster that appeared in front of me, and while I waited in line, the anxiety of waiting to die in a roller coaster made my heart beat through my chest. The huge coaster went up and down and up and down, and even though my mom continuously asked me if I was sure that I wanted to go, I repeatedly said yes. I wanted to make it clear that I was a man, not a crying baby. Stepping onto that roller coaster was what I remember the most.
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
I never wanted to leave. I truly thought my life was ending on that August day in 2010 as the Peter Pan bus pulled off the dirt bumpy road in New Hampshire on its trek back to the Bloomingdales parking lot in Connecticut. The night before, I stood on the shore of New Found Lake looking out at the horizon on my last night, arm and arm with my sisters, tears streaming down our faces as our beloved director quoted, "You never really leave a place you love; part of it you take with you, leaving a part of yourself behind." Throughout the years, I have taken so much of what I learned those seven summers with me. I can undoubtedly say that Camp Wicosuta is the happiest place on earth; my second and most memorable home. Camp was more than just fun even as I smile recalling every campfire, color-war competition, and bunk bonding activity I participated in. It was an opportunity to learn, be independent, apart of an integral community, and thrive in a new and safe environment. I recognize that camp played an essential role in who I am today.
I wasn’t even outside but I could feel the warm glow the sun was projecting all across the campsite. It seemed as if the first three days were gloomy and dreary, but when the sun on the fourth day arose, it washed away the heartache I had felt. I headed out of the trailer and went straight to the river. I walked to the edge, where my feet barely touched the icy water, and I felt a sense of tranquility emanate from the river. I felt as if the whole place had transformed and was back to being the place I loved the most. That day, when we went out on the boat, I went wakeboarding for the first time without my grandma. While I was up on the board and cutting through the wake of the boat, it didn’t feel like the boat was the one pulling and guiding me, it felt like the river was pushing and leading me. It was always nice to receive the reassurance from my grandma after wakeboarding, but this time I received it from my surroundings. The trees that were already three times the size of me, seemed to stand even taller as I glided past them on the river. The sun encouraged me with its brightness and warmth, and the River revitalized me with its powerful currents. The next three days passed by with ease, I no longer needed to reminisce of what my trips used to be like. Instead, I could be present in the moment, surrounded by the beautiful natural
Giddens understanding of reflexivity in twenty first century late modernity is somewhat useful to explaining social change. The analysis of risk society and individualisation that forces reflexivity is useful. However, it’s heavily limited by the lack of acknowledgement of the inequality faced by some that limits their ability to be reflexive, as well as their ability to change their situation by being reflexive.
The day we were leaving to go to the airport, I remember waking up and feeling a bit nauseous. I still had not realized yet that it was actually happening. I remember seeing my grandpa’s frightened face through the car’s window, crying like a child as his daughter and granddaughter were moving to an unknown place. Strangely enough, when we got to the airport we were told that we had missed our flight. This felt like a sign that maybe moving was a bad idea. I let out a huge sigh of relief because I thought that missing the flight indicated that we might decide to not move to Canada. Unfortunately, we booked another flight which was two days later. As we were heading back home from the airport, it all felt like a dream. It was unreal because we were mentally prepared to leave that day and then we missed the flight which made us even more nervous about the whole situation. As we made our way again to the airport for our second flight, I was even more overwhelmed and scared about the move than I was when we left for the first time. When my mom and I passed through security, I turned around and saw my uncle waving and I felt sick to my stomach. It hit me then that it was actually happening and that I was leaving the place and people that I had been most depended on for the last eight
As I walked down the gravel road, breathing became more difficult as the harsh sun beat on my back. I did not know if I could withstand it much longer. All I could think about was the sun - until I made eye contact with a little boy. His oversized t-shirt was drenched in sweat and dirt. He was breathing heavily, fighting tears to no avail. It was then, the large mass on the side of his forehead became more obvious. I could no longer selfishly feel the heat - only empathy for I knew the root of his pain: denial of proper medical assistance.
It was our fifth day in the Philmont Scout Reservation in New Mexico, the halfway point of the trek. I as the Crew Leader was responsible for the other 11 members of the crew, including 4 adults. I was in charge, and amazingly the adults rarely tried to take over, although they would strongly advise me what to do in some situations. Phil, with the exception of me, the oldest scout and the Chaplain for the trip, was my second. Together we dealt with problems of making sure everyone carried the right amount of stuff in their pack to who had to cook and cleanup each day. The trip had gone well so far, no injuries, and the worst problem had been a faulty backpack. As I walked I thought about the upcoming campsite. Supposedly this one had running water from a solar powered pump—so had the last night’s site but the tank was too low to use for anything but cooking because the of how cloudy it had been of late. But today was bright and shinny, and hot, so I didn’t think there would be a problem.
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning to the four-story walk up I inhabited for the majority of my young life. Instead of the pavement surrounding my former building, the final turn of our seemingly endless journey revealed the sprawling grass expanse of a baseball field directly across from an unfamiliar driveway sloping in front of the red brick walls that eventually came to be know as home.
I was smacked in the face by a gust of hot, humid Texas air as I found my way off the bus. The once brisk morning was getting hotter by the second. My friend Kristi and I looked towards our left and there she was, the Norwegian Sea. The cruise liner that we would be on for the next week. It was the biggest ship I had ever seen up close. Ten stories high and nearly 1000 feet long. It had an intimidating presence that took one's breath away.
The first time I really felt alone was when I was leaving Kentucky. We were at the airport saying our last good-byes. I was leaving everything and everyone that I loved, understood, cared for, to come and study in the Bay area. I was leaving familiar territory and moving into an unknown, unfamiliar world. I was saying good-bye to people who I had either grown up with or those who had seen me grow up. All my memories and emotions were attached to them. They were people who I thought really knew me and understood me. Yet every one of them had their own impression of how I should feel. Excitement, joy, fear, and sadness being the most popular. However nobody really knew what I was feeling. I felt all these emotions blended into an unique emotion of my own. One that I could not share with even my best friend.
One memory that comes to mind belongs to a day of no particular importance. It was late in the fall in Merced, California on the playground of my old elementary school; an overcast day with the wind blowing strong. I stood on the blacktop, pulling my hoodie over my ears. The wind was causing miniature tornados; we called them “dirt devils”, to swarm around me. I stood there, watching the leaves kick up and then settle. My friends called me over to the wooden playground surrounded by a sea of mulch chips. The bridge squeaked furiously under our weight. An unannounced game of tag started and we found ourselves weaving in and out of the wooden fortress and the trees that surrounded it. My shoe became untied and I took a time out to tie it with a method that no one uses here. We heard an adult voice; it was time to go in. We lined up single file, supposedly in alphabetical order but no one ever does. I liked that, I never liked being in the back. While waiting for everyone to line up, I looked up at the trees that line the walkway.
We all grabbed our lawn chairs and cozied up next to the roaring red fire. I always sat a little too close, enough to where the fire burnt a hole straight through my favorite pair of flip-flops, assuring me to never make that mistake again. S’mores was all of our favorite bed time snack time and a perfect way to end the night. Every time I would roast my marshmallow until it became slightly brown, mushy, and not too hot in the center; then I 'd put it between two graham crackers and extra pieces of chocolate. One too many s’mores and a belly like later I laid back in my chair and listened as Nancy told us stories. Before going to bed Nancy told us about her favorite past times here as a child and how just like the little girl we saw fishing, she was also afraid of fishing. She told us stories about how much the campground has evolved since she was a child and how every year she promises to take us here and to keep it a tradition. At bedtime Alicia and I crawl into our tents and snuggle up in our warm sleeping bags. We talked to each other about how sad we felt that it was almost the end of summer, and how nervous we felt to start our freshman year of high school. However, our conversations ended when Nancy yelled at as from the other tent to keep quiet and go to bed. I’d fallen asleep that night to the sound of the fire crackling out and the crickets chirping
I awoke to the sun piercing through the screen of my tent while stretching my arms out wide to nudge my friend Alicia to wake up. “Finally!” I said to Alicia, the countdown is over. As I unzip the screen door and we climb out of our tent, I’m embraced with the aroma of campfire burritos that Alicia’s mom Nancy was preparing for us on her humungous skillet. While we wait for our breakfast to be finished, me and Alicia, as we do every morning, head to the front convenient store for our morning french vanilla cappuccino. On our walk back to the campsite we always take a short stroll along the lake shore to admire the incandescent sun as it shines over the gleaming dark blue water. This has become a tradition that we do every
I can clearly remember being in the car on a humid day with a little overcast. We were driving in the car when all of a sudden the wind started to pick up and it started raining a bit. Within five minutes, the weather progressed and there was so much wind blowing around the car that we could no longer hear the radio. I can remember when I saw a stop sign spinning in circles like a “merry-go-round'; with electrical problems. I do not remember how my mother got us home so quickly and where we were because all around us was a thick gray fog. However, all I can recall from that point on was sitting with my head in my lap in the back seat of the car. I never witnessed the true power of nature until this incident.