I live on the streets and people call me “homeless”. But I don’t agree with this title. May be I am “houseless” but I am certainly not homeless. Because I consider the whole earth as my home. Are all the animals and birds homeless too?
I am absolutely no different than other human beings. But people treat me differently. I have not yet understood why.
The only difference between me and other people is that people wear expensive, fashionable clothes and I wear torn clothes. But people often complain that I stink. How can I make them understand, that it is my clothes that stink, not me. Why don’t they understand that it is the perfume that smells good, not their “beings”. They wear clean/elegant clothes and they think they look good, but the fact is that clothes look good not them.
The way people treat me is simply disgusting. They don’t even talk to me. Many people pass by me everyday. Although they don’t know me, I care for them. I smile when I see them smiling and I cry when I see them crying. I personally know many of them; how can I just ignore another human being?
I like talking to people but I never get a chance. I try to talk to them, but they offer me some money. It really hurts. At times, I just like to talk and share my feelings with them.
Thanks god, at least I have good health. Otherwise, who would afford the treatment these days, that even without insurance? But if I ever become sick, I know what to do. I will die, with a smile in my face.
I collect plastics, metals and other recycling things from the garbage and sell them. That is enough for my living. I think I am helping to clean the city but the city doesn’t like me.
The students of the university near my garbage heap, they think that I can’t read and write. It is true that I don’t have money to buy books, but I know how to read and write. I find enough books in the garbage. Just this last week, I had found a book named “The old man and the sea” written by Hemingway. A few pages of it were missing though. But I completed the story. It was easy to put myself in those missing pages, so I completed the book myself, filling with my own story.
Once in the garbage, I found a diary of a woman who was depressed with life. She was rich and had a great family. But she mentioned that she feels lonely, all the time. I couldn’t understand it. I found her life more miserable than my life. I feel lucky in this regard; at least I don’t have a fear of the so called society. I read such stories everyday. The whole city seems to be in trouble, in different ways. People in the city don’t seem to be what they look. Outside they look shining, but inside, they are suffering. I feel lucky again because I am not much different, inside and outside.
My society is very small, few homeless friends and some stray dogs. That’s all! No rules. No deadlines. No past. No future. We just live. At the present moment.
Well, that is my story. I know it is short but life is short too. So go and have fun!