When I was a less fortunate child, I had a recurring vision of how I would end as a grown woman: successful by means of hard work, happy and generous, living in a two-story house in a friendly uptown neighborhood, nurturing my children, and going out of my way to help others, whether I had much or not. I didn’t want my future children to grow up nearly as less fortunate as I did. Constantly moving from state to state, having to leave old friends and make new ones every so often, more nights than others walking to the nearest shelter for a nights rest and a small portion of food to hopefully fill me up for the next day, and growing up too early because of my mothers’ mistakes. Life’s struggle growing up took a huge toll on me but has definitely made me independent and understandable to society as a whole. I am now 21 years old, a little more fortunate than others because I chose to make a difference, but still unhappy about the networks of homeless individuals and families all over the globe.
To think that there are millions of people in this tight nit community of the less fortunate all around the world has me completely distraught: scrounging from point A to point B daily, scavenging for any ration of food or money they can obtain, sleeping in the freezing cold under the closest overpass, wrapped in dirty cardboard boxes with new holes seeped through every day, and a pile of soft dirt lying beneath their head substituting a comfortable pillow. Then they wake up the next morning and repeat this process verbatim. According to the national coalition for the homeless, there are approximately 3.5 million homeless people scattered across the globe. Every day, without noticing, we walk by or drive by at least one homeless person in need, begging for something we all take for granted, just some loose change that ends up thrown under old stacks of mail or piled inside a plastic bottle hidden behind disheveled Sunday newspapers. And still, we pass by...
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