Why do people hurt other people? I don't understand. Why can't we just live in harmony and peace? What makes people commit violent acts against others?
I don't think I will ever understand it.

Despite everything, there will always be beauty. There will always be the resilient ones who do not let the terrible things consume them, who stand up peacefully and show the world that there is so much worth living for.

Everyone can be redeemed. I believe this, but it's definitely hard for me. I would like to believe that the world is a happy place filled with generally good people, but the reality is far from that.
People wound, kill, maim, mutilate, molest, rape, torture, and a thousand other horrible things. It's sad and violent and not fair.
And yet I try to maintain that everyone has the potential to grow and change, no matter what they have done.
It's definitely the most difficult belief I have. I rarely meet someone who agrees with me on the subject.
And it's actually the opposition's stance that makes it easier to believe this. People generally respond with anger and the need for violence on subjects such as murder or rape. And that makes me sad, and I realize that reacting to violence with violence can never save the world.

I have no home. I'm technically homeless currently.

What does home mean?

    A home could be the place someone lives. So a home could be a house, a prison, a concentration camp. Home could be a bench on Hollywood Boulevard, an abandoned warehouse, or a box on a street corner. Home could be a sewer, or a muddy hole in the middle of a war zone. And what about frequent travelers? Is their home in all the places they sleep and eat? Is their home the journey itself or the destination? What about a pilgrim? Is the pilgrimage home, or is home the holy site?
    A home is usually viewed as the place someone comes from, but what does that mean? The place someone was born? The place someone grew up? The DNA of a person’s parents? Can a person’s home change, or is it something they’ll never escape? Does everyone have a home? If home is not a place, but an idea, what sort of idea is it, and can one ever truly be there? They say home is where the heart is- but what does that mean? If one’s heart is in turmoil or despair, is that home?
    No, no, home is not something magical and warm. Home can be lonely and cold and trapped in a blizzard. Home breathes winter nights, thunders maelstroms, crashes lightning rods. How can someone escape a nightmare-home? The children dying slow deaths of AIDS in Africa, surrounded by violence, stained with blood. Veiled women locked in silence by the oppressive Taliban. Home can be a place of violence and fear. Loneliness and sorrow. An empty place filled with strangers who look past you and never really see you. A place of turmoil. A home is glass shattering, breaking, crashing. Snapping like bone. The abode of fear, terror. A place so thick with tension it’s hard to even breathe. Home is a burden to bear, a secret to hide. From everyone. Forever.

I used to just get scared. Now, having to face the unknown is frequent and the results are more often than not quite unpleasant. I just go with it, because mostly I can't change things. It's part of what must happen to me, I suppose. And I can't just hole myself up in a corner and hope that nothing changes. I know one day the unknown will be something happy and amazing. So with that hope, I continue moving forward.

The memories I have of Autumn are full of vibrant colors, and laughter. In my childhood this time of year was the time to decorate and visit haunted houses and get free candy. Autumn marked the ending of the summer, which was sad, but also the beginning of the holiday season, with so much to look forward to.
Now, Autumn leaves and their beauty and the smell of Autumn in the air always makes me nostalgic and a little sad. All that it marks now is the beginning of the bitter cold, which is scary now, unlike it seemed as a child. Back then, the snow was beautiful and full of wonders and fun.
But back then, I always knew I had somewhere warm and safe to go back to.

My future hangs in the balance. I'm at a tough point in my life right now, and I'm hoping, even though it seems hopeless, that things turn out alright.
You see, some not so wonderful things have happened in my life. A lot more recently. And even though I'm 19 and on my own and poor, I'm trying to get through college at a 4 year university. And I work full-time trying to pay for everything.
And if I don't get enough hours, my bills don't get paid. And I might lose my car, I might get kicked out of school for not paying the bill.
There are two very different futures laid out now. One, where I make it through, I survive, and I am a Social Worker helping save the world. And one very darker future, where I am struggling on minimum wage barely surviving from paycheck to paycheck. And if I lose my job, I find myself in a homeless shelter.
I'm terrified.

I am in the library, trying to focus on studying. Emotionally, I am numb and frozen. I think if I tried to feel anything, I'd just fall apart with all of it. It's too overwhelming.
In the world. I'm invisible. I don't matter. I'm poor. And the poverty-stricken are unseen, unheard, invisible. So I am exactly nowhere in the world.
My heart is- I don't know where. My heart is with the wounded and the sorrowful. My heart is with the benevolent ones who helped me when I had nothing and hoping they're all safe and happy. My heart is in the future, hoping it is brighter.
And my thoughts are scattered across the galaxies.

Whenever I get to feeling sad, panicked, hopeless... whenever I find myself facing the depths of despair, I think about how lucky I am.
I think about the billions of people who suffer far worse than I ever have or will. I think about all these people who have no way out of their terrible situations.
I focus on the positive things in my life. I have friends. I have people who care about me, who I care about, who have become more like family to me than my biological family ever was.
I think about happy things, and how I can make anything positive. I look at this life, I'm so lucky to be in college. I focus on that. I'm so lucky to have a job. I'm so lucky, so very lucky.
I think about how there's still holidays and delicious food. I can still go running or sit outside and write or just appreciate the beauty all around me.
I try to focus on how things could be so much worse. And how wonderful and amazing my life is.
Sometimes it's hard to do that. But I try. And if it doesn't work, I let myself wallow for a while, but when it comes to that I usually feel guilty for indulging myself in sorrow.

I have been living on campus for less than 1 month.
I was homeless this summer. And then I sort of went from place to place. A benevolent person took me in until school started.
Sometimes the idea of where I'm going to go on the holidays or next summer scares me to death.

Honestly, I wish my mother had never gotten remarried to that not so great person. Things were never perfect, and sure, we had some tough times. But there were so many wonderful times.
I never felt quite at home. It took me a while to get settled into a new place. But the place that I remember as feeling the most like home was my childhood town.
Home to me is hot chocolate when you're sick, the smell of evergreen in the house in December, the smell of food in the kitchen, a cat curled up next to you. And, of course, not having to worry about getting all packed up and out by 7 AM, or worrying about where you're going to stay the following week.
Honestly, I miss having a home, a family. I know I'm so lucky in so many ways, and there are millions who are way worse off than I am. But I still wish my mother loved me. I still miss "home."