“Home is where the heart is.” We have all heard this saying at least once in our lives but really, is that true? The short story “Homelessness” by Anna Quindlen discusses this question. For the author, her home is everything to her. It’s a place of certainty, stability, predictability, privacy for not only her but her family and that is all she could ask for.
However while covering a story of homelessness, she meets a woman in a bus terminal and she soon gets a different outlook about what matters in a home. Ann was her name. She told Anna that She was wasting her time talking to her because she was just passing through. To prove that she was telling the truth Ann pulled out a manila envelope and brought her photographs. The average person would expect them to be of her family, friends or pets. On the contrary they were pictures of a house. Anna knew right away what Ann was trying to tell. Even though she was alone, anonymous and her bags and raincoats made her look like didn’t have a home. She did a long time ago. Inside that house was “a couch, a stove and potholders.” Anna realized that it’s all about whom you are, not where you live, Anna goes on to say that she was somebody.
It seems so surreal. Everyday anybody can turn on the world news and see that the amount of homeless people in America is going up. It’s like we put them (homeless) in a category, that if there are homeless, that means they (homeless) have nothing. We stereotype them (homeless). I know if I walk down the road in Washington D.C., which has the highest rate of homeless people in America, I would slowly feel sorry for those people. I obtain this premeditated thought that if you don’t have a home then you don’t have anything. In this story Anna discusses this exact thing. “We turn the adjective into a noun: the poor not the poor people; the homeless, not Ann or the man who lives in the box or the woman sleeps in a subway gate.”
Its kind of funny. As a child I can...