By R. Chris Cruz Homeless in Santa Monica
I am Ricardo Christopher Cruz. I am a divorced homeless man. I have read a lot of letters in your local paper that are from local residents who are very upset with what they call “the homeless problem” in Santa Monica.
I have looked for work in many states over the last four years. I have worked full time from the age of 14 to the age of 28 — and graduated from high school. I cannot fully explain to the good people of Santa Monica why or how I have become unemployed and homeless, except to say that it is an act of God. I have received a lot of help from a lot of people and I am very thankful for the kindness, though much of it comes with a slap or a little spit. I don’t know why.
I have at times, overcome by anger and depression given in to a night of beer or whiskey, a cigarette or two, but, as the truth is, I am neither an alcoholic or a drug addict. I am not addicted to any substance as such, though, I love chocolate. I wash my clothes at a coin laundry on Pico. I pick up my trash from where I sleep — alley, doorway, parking lot. I brush my teeth, comb my hair, buy my soap and toothpaste at Sav-Ons at Lincoln. I shower at the pier every chance I get, ‘bout every day. I am very thankful for the amenities for the homeless like myself. There seem to be a bunch of us — acts of God.
I am cursed, it seems. I wonder if there are others like myself who are aware of it. I see a bunch of people who really seem to enjoy the suffering that others do. They smile a lot but I can see how sharp their teeth are. The same folks who pass over the homeless as job candidates do the majority of complaining. I do admit, I see a great number of homeless men and women that are at the threshold of the absence of hope. They do not bathe, seek shelter or food, smoke cigarette butts, drink from discarded bottles, and relieve themselves of all consciousness.
We had families too, we had friends, we had pets, TVs and toasters, bills, chore lists, noisy neighbors and crappy bosses. Maybe what we are going through, a lot of you good folks of Santa Monica will go through one day. I hope not. Being unemployed, homeless, unloved, unwanted and yet, able bodied, and willing to do the right things to become established just plain bites ass.
Anybody who calls the ability to love and forgive and remain determined to make an effort to be of worth in the face of hatred and indifference is a damn jackass. What good are your empty voices of empathy? All these things are just beyond my understanding.
I consider myself a simple thing. I have absolutely no idea of why my life is like this. Or why with the skills that I have, I can find not a job, home, girlfriend, art gallery to sell my work, a place to paint, cook, build. I am sure that as before, I’ll make an effort everyday to do something positive, and I am sure that I will suffer for it, beyond reason.
I encounter people who are aware of why myself and others are homeless, and some of them are still willing to beat us own further with words or deeds. Whatever the reason is for these painful people, I can only hope that they will stop, or at least make an effort not to put weights or knives in the backs of the homeless in the great, good city of Santa Monica.
I am going to continue to draw and paint, and look for work and keep a positive attitude about my situation. I can accept the name calling, and isolation, and such, even with a smile. I am willing to leave here if necessary, don’t know where I may go if and when I do, I really am homeless. I really did lose my family and friends. I really did die four years ago. I really am an angel of the Lord, and I really will put my foot down if I feel like it.
I’m really not bragin (sic), ‘bout the angel thing, hell, I have trouble spelling. I have been left behind and I can accept that. Why society treats me the way it does is something that I do have a time with, when it comes to accepting what is. It’s as if I am being mistreated by others who want to get back at God herself. There surely will be hell to pay for that. I know that every act has its reward, so be it. I make good decisions and I make bad decisions, I suffer judgment too. That’s why I am homeless and unemployed. I have not given up on the hope that one day I will have a place of my own, a friend or two, a girlfriend, a pet, a flying squirrel to be exact. A means to have food in the fridge, a room to sleep in, a pot to cook with. I hope to wake up one day and not feel like society wants to hang my balls in the local square. I look forward to not being in my current situation, balls intact. Whatever the future holds for me, you, us, them, it’s coming whether we like it or not. Wherever I go, there I am, and I might as well put forth an effort for myself and others if they let me.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on May 19, 2005. Read the original PDF.