I was totally defeated. That’s what it felt like. I wasn’t as desperate or sad as I had been in jail, in which I was literally laying on the ground begging for death to end my misery, but I wasn’t that far off.
It had been quite an ordeal that tested my resolve. Whenever I tell people about it and all of the circumstances involved, people become enraged at my mother. I don’t know if I can comprehend why she did what she did, but she made her choices and I made mine. I can speculate all I want as to why she did it, and I did do that very often in the immediate aftermath of that, but now it’s all a bunch of “what if’s“.
What if I had finished my schooling at Columbia and truly rooted myself in that part of the US? What if I had stayed and studied at Second City to hone my craft further? Where would I be now? I always speculated that I’d be in New York, but would that really be where I want to be?
I don’t have answers to these questions because they are not reality. The one in which I live now does, however, give me a unique perspective on several aspects of suffering that I doubt I’d have otherwise.
Being homeless teaches you a lot about poverty. It teaches you why the arguments against helping the homeless are utter bullshit and spoken from truly ignorant positions. I understand what it’s like to steal because you’re suffering from food insecurity, and why when you get money you spend it on booze or whatever momentary pleasures you can get.
Compassion may be nice, but sometimes it isn’t enough.
One of the ironies of being homeless was that there were moments where I was genuinely happier than I was at other moments in my life. I think that’s simply because when you have nothing, very basic things can make you very happy. When you haven’t eaten for 3 days, french fries can truly be a moment of pure bliss. But that happiness isn’t real because it’s based on an insecurity…
Whenever someone remarks about a person in a lower position, whether that be someone poor or indigent from a starving nation (or a wealthy one) or a disabled individual, finding happiness in simplicity and how we should all learn from that, I get so fucking angry. They have no choice in their circumstances and deserve our love and support to sustain that happiness and you belittle them because they get beyond their circumstances to find a joy that eludes you in privilege. Fuck you.
When I finally gave up, after I finished my run of shows at Second City, after I finished my final at Columbia (and didn’t even stay to check my grade), and hopped on that bus back to Los Angeles, totally defeated, I didn’t realize that was the beginning of the road to Bangkok.
I never forget how lucky I am to have a roof over my head. How lucky I am to have food, water, a bathroom. Never. Because there was a time where I didn’t have any of those things… and by the way, yes, I give money to homeless people… and I don’t care what they spend it on because maybe they need a relief from the anxiety of being without their basic needs being met so they buy alcohol or drugs or whatever. I support that because I did the same thing.
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