A piece of personal history

This one is difficult. Once I was made homeless along with my two small children. Being homeless feels like the ultimate freedom, but it also feels like death. Along with losing all the artifacts that give life its meaning, Identity is obliterated. The homeless person suffers the loss of order and safety. Instead chaos and arbitrary events arrive out of the blue. What might be a bed for the night becomes brute architecture installed by the city fathers in the name of aethetics and public decency. Or the local public toilet has been upgraded to an upmarket day spa. Even the weather is, as usual, arbitrary, but its impact on a homeless person can spell life or death.