Poverty

Date: 5/13/2019

I was living in a place that had extreme poverty. It was a drug infested place with homeless people everywhere I turned and even in areas that were like hydro fields (just fields of grass). I had a place of my own and it seemed as though I only left it to go to school. I dreaded the walk home; the atmosphere really affected my mood, especially the graffiti which portrayed negative messages like “you’re all alone” or “kill yourself.” It was ironic because the weather was very nice and the sky was very blue yet if felt like hell. It seemed as though I had friends at school that I would spend my time on drugs with. However, they were fairly nice people that would tell me things like “you’re going to get through this” and “you’ll get out of here one day.” At one point, I was talking to an old friend from high school and I was saying jokes that he would only understand if he remembered our conversations from our past - which he didn’t. I gave up telling the jokes and just showed him old videos of us playfully annoying each other which we were laughing about for a while. This time around on my way home I took public transit. I seemed to be either manic, on drugs, or both because I was talking to random people on the bus about things that didn’t make sense. Every minute or so I’d hear sirens go off. I was eavesdropping on these two hijabi girls who were around my age. I understood their Arabic and they were talking about this Arabic grocery store they’re going to that I know of. “There cheese is really good I heard” I told them in English. They were surprised and started laughing. I was trying to convince them to have a sleepover with me but they weren’t really saying much, just nodding and smiling and reacting to whatever episode I was having. It was my stop and before I got off I said “I live right there if you ever want to stop by” I told them pointing at the direction of my house. When I got off the bus it was like exactly the area I live in but it was like the poverty version. Everywhere I looked there were cops on the roads. I even let one go by at a red light before I continued crossing the road. There were also men following which were on the same bus as I was. “You coming home with me?” I kept saying sarcastically, confronting them. They seemed to be threatened by me after I said that and left me alone. Thoughts: I wouldn’t say this was a good dream but it did make me feel very grateful to live where I do.