This week, I’m attending a college seminar with a group of veterans. Its been a joy to go to a great center of learning with some of my beloved brothers and sisters in arms.
But while networking, there has been one question that has stumped me. It’s almost caused me to glitch. It’s kind of embarrassing really.
“Where are you from?”
Normally, I would say Orlando. But now I tell them that I’m really not sure.
They ask why and I tell them.
“Well, I can’t afford to live there anymore.”
And I’ll explain to them how Orlando real estate and property management priced me out of my own hometown. Twice.
The first time truly was one of the hardest periods of my life. My wonderful friends were able to pick me up and carry me home. I owe everything to them.
But it was only a year before a greedy and unfair system ensured that I had to leave again. And here I am.
I should be okay. I’ll be doing a mix of campaign deployments and other work for the next few months. A true nomadic lifestyle. Unlike last time, I recognized that things were getting worse and not better. I was prepared for this.
But it still hurts.
So right now I say I’m from nowhere. And use the opportunity to raise awareness about what’s going on back there.
I’ll visit when I can. And I won’t stop fighting.
Right now, I don’t have a hometown. It won’t be that way forever. This is just a chapter in a long story.