In Hanover Park they highlighted the terrible plight of backyard dwellers and the fact that year after year nothing has been done to help you: the hope and despair you all live with every day.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.
I've led this empty life for over forty years and now I can pass that heritage on and ensure that the misery will continue for at least one more generation.
The garden has taught me to live, to appreciate the times when things are fallow and when they're not.
My day-to-day local issues are rooted in an underlying fear of death.
I grew up in the east side of Detroit in an area where there was very little, except for a lot of scarcity, poverty and hunger. I never woke up saying, 'I'm an orphan again today, isn't this terrible? Poor me.'
My family made it through Hurricane Sandy. We have water, power, and a roof, but the survivor's guilt makes me want to hide. Sneak away from the brilliance of life. It shouts at me: 'Don't enjoy anything too much; people are suffering.' I feel childlike somehow.
National parks are cathedrals of spirituality and emotion, and unfortunately, they are being loved to death by many of the same people who enjoy them the most.
Livelihoods and whole communities throughout the Murray-Darling Basin have been imperilled by the workings of drought, fire, flood, acid mud and human action over many decades. In the rescues and the cleanups and the long hauls, I see the same attitude over and again. People just rally and get on with it.
I get the, you know, 'In my generation, we all had victory gardens, we all participated in this country's success.' It's that kind of sentiment that I hear from everybody, that we're all in this together.
The slums are not a place of despair. Its inhabitants are all working towards a better life.