Being Homeless

In the last post, I had stated that I had an argument and wished not to return to my parents house but I did. I suppose some of you were wondering how and why I ended up homeless.

It was around 4am. I slept for a few hours in my mother's bed. I didn't move a thing. I wanted it to remain as it were before she had left. I opened her dressing cupboard and sniffed her clothes whilst crying. Later that day, my father was sorting out the funerary arangements. I just remained in her room, lying down on her bed. I didn't eat anything. I heard a lot of people downstairs. A number of my friends rang me to offer their condolences. I burst into tears with each phone call. I remember saying to each of them that my mother had

"...left me. She wasn't supposed to leave me".

I did not know a lot of these people who were downstairs. Some came up and were telling me to eat but when I'm extremely upset, I tend not to. Quite the opposite to my mother since she used to comfort eat. Some of these women also told me that I should see them as a motherly figure. I felt angered. No one can replace the position of your mother regardless of what they say. I thought to myself that do they think I'm stupid. I'm well aware of what they're trying to do. It was just to calm me down but in reality, no one will look after you. I'd be on my own from now on.

I feel that I'm too young to have lost my mother. But looking at the world as it is, some lose their mothers at an early age. Some have never felt a mother's love. Some are fortunate to have their mothers live till they are mid-point in their lives or even older. I felt robbed that she was taken away from me and I still do. Why is it that all the good people tend to die sooner and unexpected and that those who have committed heinous crimes get to live to a ripe old age. It's just not fair. Life is just not fair.

My father wanted her funerary services to run at a mosque in Canton. It is a place I personally vowed never to go again in my lifetime. When I was very young, I was bullied there quite often and not many of the kids from the Asian community would talk to me. Why? Because at that age, I was meeting and making friends with kids who had a different religious/cultural background. I became isolated from the Pakistani community. That was my reason why I did not want my mother's funeral to take place there. We were both alienated pretty much. When I told my father that, he informed me that there was no room for negotiations. He stated that mosque is where "our people go. We have to have it done there". I wanted no arguments and for the sake of the bigger picture and what was more important, I accepted.

Her funeral took place two days after her death on the 1st of May which was a Tuesday. I still was not eating properly but I got dressed and took with me an English version of the Quran. I had learnt it in Arabic years ago but it seems that I've forgotten to read in it and therefore my mother wanted me to understand the religion she was so passionate about. Some friends of mine even travelled from London  just to attend her funeral despite it being exam period at universities across the country.

It was raining heavily that day. After prayers, we headed to the graveyard. I sat in the hearse with my hand on my mother's coffin. I was told by a person not to cry and that I had to be brave. For some reason, I managed not to cry throughout the whole process. When we arrived at the graveyard, the sun had come out and you could see the blue sky. I looked in the dug out grave that her coffin was going to be placed in. I realised that we are not immortal and that death will come to all of us. In Islam, there is an arabic saying but here is the english translation. It is 'From Him we come, and to Him we all return.'

Reality hit me hard at that point. We lowered the coffin into the grave. I was told that I had to go in and sort something out as no one else was able to. I felt at peace being in that rectangular hole with her coffin there. I was then told to get out but I would have just been happy if they had burried me alive with her. At least I'd be with her. Once I came out, I had to be the one who would have to start shoveling earth over her coffin. From that, I recieved a cut and it has turned into a scar. A scar that I now look at and brings back unpleasant memories of her burial.

I thought it was strange that I did not cry or I was not upset at that point. I remained like that for a few days and thought whether it was closure. I was wrong. My father sat down on a chair which had my Beats by Dre headphones placed upon. They were already damaged but it turned out that he had damaged the good side. I lost control. I told him he would have to compensate and at first he stated no but then agreed. I started to get worse and worse till I told him that he needed '...to get out of my sight before I do something'. He left along with two other people who were there. There was also a child present. I left the house soon after and went for a walk. By the time I returned, I had calmed down and was willing to appologise. It was midnight and there was no sight of him so I decided to get some rest. As I started to go to sleep, I heard a loud knock on the door. I came downstairs and found out that it was none other than the police. Two police women. I told them upfront about everything and even my past dealings with them. I'm very honest. Perhaps too honest for my own good. They told me that I had to leave the house. I replied "I have no where else to go. Who do you think will accomodate me at 1am in the morning?". Due to my earlier loss of temper, I had hit some things off the kitchen table but nothing was damaged. I had already cleaned up the mess. It turned out that the police wanted to arrest me for criminal damage. That would be fine although there was no damage in the first place so I doubt they had any evidence to back their case for that allegation.

I packed my bag. All I had it in was a box of cereal and a cereal bowl. They then allowed me to stay for the night but would come back the next morning to escort me out of the house. After everything, I realised something which came to quite a shock to me. 25 years of living and all I had were two bags of clothes. That's all I had to show for my life up till the present day. As I left the house, police officers were sitting in the car with the window down. I looked at them and couldn't help but say

"You're a bunch of f*****g c***s. All of you."

I walked off and headed towards Swansea where some of my friends were still studying  at university. I stayed there for a day or two and then headed back to Cardiff to stay with another friend. I found myself hopping from one person's house to another, not knowing until rather late whether I had a place to sleep or not. I would always make some food and pack up enough just in case I wasn't able to prepare food anywhere else. Despite things looking bad, I enjoyed the sense of freedom and being away from that house. Afterall, I no longer have a house. A few months prior to all this, I went and stayed with a friend of mine who was squatting in London, near Oval. I had a blast. I thought it may be ok to head back there but that was not possible at the time. After stuggling for some time, I came back to the house I did not really want to be in. My father wanted me back and at first I was reluctant. We both have different ideologies/philosophies on how one should live. Again, that did not last and I ended up nearly hurting someone. It was again 1am and I decided myself that I should not remain there. I needed a fresh start. I took a gamble and headed for my friend's dad's house in Riverside. He took me in and then I was allowed to stay at my friend's mum's house to which I am very grateful. That is where I am now.

It's strange how I once walked around the city centre of Cardiff in Hugo Boss suits. Some women would look and smile at me. Now the position is rather different. Now people tend to avoid you. I bumped into another friend who is studying law and when I called out his name, he couldn't recognise me. He told me that he would have walked straight past. I guess it must be the beard and the state of my unwashed clothes. I found myself walking around a lot since all this has happened. I usually did walk a lot when my mother was alive but perhaps adding 5 miles more adding it upto 20 miles daily. I would be sitting on a bench in city centre even if it started to rain. To be honest, I did not hardly realise that it was raining. I was so deep in thought. I sat by a pub called O' Neals the other day. It was raining. I saw a disabled young asian boy walk past. There were two guys who had come out to smoke. I was observing them. They started to make fun of the young boy as he walked past tauting him with

"You'll get there. Don't worry"

They were laughing. I looked at the boy and even though he did not look back, he looked at me and smiled. He was extrmely brave to take that. So I sat there and I thought to myself which one should I punch first. I'm not big headed and usually, I dislike fighting as I just want some peace but I would have given those two a good beating. Then I thought to myself that would it be worth it. Would beating them make them realise that what they had done was cruel. I had already been having run-ins with the police now for the past month as it's clear that I'm unable to cope with my mother's passing. I saw a police women then walk past and I called her over. Despite knowing law, I asked her what should I do. I told her that those two men were mocking a disabled person and that I feel they should be punished so would she do anything if I beat them to a pulp. She answered saying that karma will do its thing and they'll suffer. So I left it at that.

I've seen quite a few homeless people. It's gotten to the point that they are starting to acknowledge me. I walked into an arcade and saw two of them. One sat on the floor and the other standing by a bin. The one by the bin looked around to see if anyone else was looking. He saw me but to see if anyone else was watching him. He put his hand in and took out a Mcdonalds drink that hadn't been finished. He then proceeded to walk off drinking it. We have to do what we can in order to survive. At least for me, I've been fortunate in some ways that I've been able to afford some food such as a tin of tuna and some bread. I've been unemployed for quite some time now. Even after applying for jobs that are in other sectors and not just limiting myself to the legal sector as a lawyer or paralegal, I am struggling.

To me, money means nothing. It's a shame that we need it to survive but people are willing to do all sorts of acts just in order to get by. Some people rob and kill for a few pounds/dollars worth of items. I learned a long time ago that money does not bring you happiness. No amount of money I have now can bring my mother back, even if I were to have billions. What one needs are good friends and someone who truly cares for you and loves you. As I sit there on benches and see couples smiling and laughing whilst holding hands, my heart aches. I've always been a loner. I spend a lot of my time by myself doing what I wanted to do. When I was younger, I used to love making money and seeing my bank balance grow. Now I couldn't care whether I had £2 in the bank or £200,000. As long as I'm happy that's what matters but as things stand, that's not likely to happen any time soon.