In a previous post, I had mentioned that, in my street-wise opinion, one of the leading causes of homelessness and poverty is the extremely high cost of public transportation. Indeed, many people work in cities in which they can’t afford to live but that they can also not afford to leave since cars are pricey and the bus is almost more so.
That you now have to be middle class to take public transit is outrageous. If you are poor, you bike. If you can’t afford a bike, can’t ride a bike or it’s, say, winter, you walk. This means that you have to make sure your job is within walking distance (by which I mean an hour, not ten minutes; when you’re poor you walk a lot) of your dwelling or you can’t work at all. Read the rest of this entry
When I was about ten years old, I received a present from my aunt (actually a cousin twice removed, I think, but I always called her “Tati” – Auntie – and so that is who she shall remain) that I carry around with me to this day, much like my cherished teddy-bear and my newer companion, my teddy-bunny.
My auntie is a writer, which is quite a magnificent and wondrous thing to be. Every now and then, she’d send me a box full of books she’d written and I’d be delighted. I too wanted to be a writer when I grew up (as well as a cat, and a mermaid, etc.) so the books bearing her name were proof that it was possible to become a real live author.
I’d always pick up her books with the intention of reading them cover to cover but I never got very far. Being a strong reader, I could understand the books just fine but they were always about – no offense, Auntie – boring things. Acclimatization to a new reality, separation from one’s family, solitude, fear, hope, hope, hope. Loss, tragedy, pain. Growth. I don’t know if there were happy endings; I never made it that far into the stories. Read the rest of this entry