Luggage in Our Hands and Hope in Our Hearts

My name is Ashley and I’m 21 years old. I currently attend Lehman College where I’m majoring in multimedia journalism. As a full-time student, I attend classes twice a week. At the end of the day, I return to be with my parents where we now live: in a homeless shelter.

How my family ended up in a homeless shelter was the result of a number of bad breaks.

In late August of 2010, we received an eviction notice on our door. We were in shock. Normally, you’d see that coming, but we had been paying our rent! I know because I helped pay many of the bills since my father is disabled and my brother is out of work.

My mother is a housewife.

So what happened?

We were subletting an apartment in the Bronx, paying a woman $800 a month (when she only had to pay $300). But she never paid the rent and thus we were evicted. After storing our furniture and possessions at various places, my parents and I entered a shelter on September 15th, 2010. The process wasn’t easy.

None of the “shelter life” is easy.

In order to secure a room in a Bronx shelter, my parents and I set out to the city housing agency with luggage in our hands and hope in our hearts. Now I know that sounds “corny” or even like a cliche, but it’s the truth. The system, from what I hear, has changed a lot but one thing that hasn’t changed: the information they ask for, Social Security cards (yes), identification (yes), birth certificates (yes), and proof of address (huh???).

As a family who has moved often, my dad got a P.O. box so our mail goes to one safe place. This is where I’ve had all my mail sent for about four years. As a result, my dad was unable to obtain physical documents to prove I’ve lived with my parents for the past six months, prior to coming into the system. I remember my Dad telling the man, “My daughter hasn’t lived with us for six months — she’s lived with us for 21 years.”

The man with a stern look in his eyes seemed not to care what my dad had to say about the situation. We left the room and sat in the waiting room for about an hour -– almost certain that we weren’t going to get approved. We were thinking if we didn’t, where we would go? We talked about how we could start over with nowhere to start. We thought about what we’ve lost and if we’d ever get it back.

Then they called us to a window. I will never forget that moment when they said we had been approved, tears streaming down not only my eyes, but my parents’ eyes. Even the security guard on the premises hugged me and began weeping herself.

There’s one other emotion I will never forget from that day: the circumstances were horrible but the hope will never fade.

Ashley’s next blog: Life in the Shelter