3 months in a homeless shelter
I was out on one of my evening walks, on the very first evening of the new year. I thought it was a good time to reflect on the past, not just on the last one year but on my life in general. Much have happened, with lessons to learn.
As I breathed in the night air and strolled along the foot path along the perimeter of Serangoon Stadium, a slight breeze was blowing. The cool air reminded me of the time when I lived in a homeless shelter for three months.
I was down to my last few hundred dollars the month before. I’d been living in a rented room and living on donations while working on The Online Citizen as chief editor. There were months when I’d survive on $200 or $300, sometimes less, after paying the rent.
At this particular time, I was down to just a few hundred dollars, barely enough to make the next month’s rent.
To cut a long story short, a Christian pastor came to know about my situation and asked me out to lunch. “I have a nice place for you,” he told me, after asking me where I was going to stay after the money ran out. “You can move in anytime.”
Being out of pocket was a scary thought. So, I took him up on the offer. I basically had no choice, else I would be out on the streets. I’d kept this from everyone, save one or two friends.
It was only when I moved in and saw the place that I realised it was a shelter for the homeless. It was a private house, rented by the pastor to use as a shelter for those in need of a roof over their heads.
I remember it was in the evening when I moved into my room, a space just big enough for a single bed. But I wasn’t complaining. Nonetheless, I felt lost, to be honest and questioned everything – how I have come to this state, whether I should continue to sacrifice for what I believed in, whether I was crazy to continue to run a website when I have nothing to my name, and with no prospects for the future.
How do you buy a HDB flat when you are considered unemployed, and have your elderly mother move in so she can have peace of mind? It was one of those sacrifices you make, hoping that one day there’d be light at the end of the tunnel.
I’d been living on my savings as I ran TOC – and soon, inevitably, I’d used up all savings (some $40,000), paying the rent over two years, and for meetings, travel, and food in those times.
I’d always been a spiritual person, which is different from being a religious one. I believe, I suppose, in Life, rather than God. And that was the only thing I held on to, that very first night at the shelter, as emotions welled up in my heart. My mind was swirling with doubts, fear was the prevailing sentiment.
There was no one I could talk to, except one. So I texted her – all the way to London – and asked if she could call me. She had cheaper calls and I desperately needed someone to speak to. The room was dark, and I’d slumped onto the floor. “What the hell am I doing here?” I kept asking myself. Then the phone rang and it was Elaine.
I’d been in tears by then. “I don’t know what I am doing here,” I said to her. “Andrew, pray to Him,” she replied. “You know he’s always taken care of you,” she said. “I know but I’m not sure now. Why am I here?” I asked. “Because you may not see it now but there is a purpose,” she answered.
I told her I know that but it is still hard for me. I’d always believed that if you do good, things will be well. But the situation I was in was tearing me apart. My responsibility to my mother, my responsibility to the friends and volunteers who had spent time and effort over the preceding 2 or 3 years on the website, which had become popular.
I was physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted. I was spiritually parched, having let go of that path. How could I go on? What is there to hold me?
I didn’t sleep much that night, perhaps for just one or two hours. I sat on the floor, my only companion were a thumping headache and fear. Where do I go from here? I remember that night very vividly for it was also a most humbling experience.
The experience of having fallen so low that you end up in a homeless shelter doesn’t just make you realise that you are vulnerable and dependent on others, it also chews away at your dignity and self-worth, your self-esteem. It breaks you down to the bare bones.
I didn’t realise it then, but perhaps that was what I needed at that time. To be laid bare so I could take a long hard look at myself. Things always happen for a reason.
And so it did, as things turned out.
The next day, I got up just before dawn, to go for a walk at the nearby park which was just across the road from the shelter. I needed to clear my head. [I wrote about this earlier in another post. Read it here: And then the sun came through the trees.]
Soon after, some friends and I “discovered” the homeless people living in that park and this set off a whole series of events which led us to report on the stories of the homeless, bringing their plight to the attention of the authorities and the public. An issue which we stayed with for more than five months, telling the human stories of these homeless people.
As the shelter itself got more crowded, I started to hear that many were on the waiting list, including families with children. The bottom level of the house had been compartmentalised into cubicles which provided just enough room for one person each. So, I moved to one of those cubicles, and gave up the room to a family.
I soon got used to living with the homeless and spoke to them once in a while. [I will write about their stories another time.]
3 months after I’d first moved in, things started to get better and I had some money. So, I eventually moved out to another rental flat, surviving the best I could with whatever donations the website brought in.
Being homeless and living in a shelter is not a pleasant experience. It is not just about the physical environment – that you are there because you have failed. It is also about the emotions you go through, how your dignity and self-worth have hit rock bottom.
What it taught me, besides realising some things about myself, were also the compassion of human beings. Like the pastor who reached his hand out to me, a complete stranger to him. I will always be eternally grateful to him. In another time, he would be called a saint. Indeed, he is. At least in my mind. For I was not the only one he helped and is helping. There are countless others.
The experience also taught me empathy, and how each of us can do something – just like the pastor – for those around us who have fallen on hard times.
But personally, having moved on from there, these lessons and experiences informed and continues to influence the way I look at life – and at those who struggle.
I am grateful for having gone through this particular experience, even though it was not a very pleasant one. I am grateful because it brought me to the very depths of despair, and to emerge from it with a greater understanding of Life, and of my fellow men.
Andrew Loh
I was out on one of my evening walks, on the very first evening of the new year. I thought it was a good time to reflect on the past, not just on the last one year but on my life in general. Much have happened, with lessons to learn.
As I breathed in the night air and strolled along the foot path along the perimeter of Serangoon Stadium, a slight breeze was blowing. The cool air reminded me of the time when I lived in a homeless shelter for three months.
I was down to my last few hundred dollars the month before. I’d been living in a rented room and living on donations while working on The Online Citizen as chief editor. There were months when I’d survive on $200 or $300, sometimes less, after paying the rent.
At this particular time, I was down to just a few hundred dollars, barely enough to make the next month’s rent.
To cut a long story short, a Christian pastor came to know about my situation and asked me out to lunch. “I have a nice place for you,” he told me, after asking me where I was going to stay after the money ran out. “You can move in anytime.”
Being out of pocket was a scary thought. So, I took him up on the offer. I basically had no choice, else I would be out on the streets. I’d kept this from everyone, save one or two friends.
It was only when I moved in and saw the place that I realised it was a shelter for the homeless. It was a private house, rented by the pastor to use as a shelter for those in need of a roof over their heads.
I remember it was in the evening when I moved into my room, a space just big enough for a single bed. But I wasn’t complaining. Nonetheless, I felt lost, to be honest and questioned everything – how I have come to this state, whether I should continue to sacrifice for what I believed in, whether I was crazy to continue to run a website when I have nothing to my name, and with no prospects for the future.
How do you buy a HDB flat when you are considered unemployed, and have your elderly mother move in so she can have peace of mind? It was one of those sacrifices you make, hoping that one day there’d be light at the end of the tunnel.
I’d been living on my savings as I ran TOC – and soon, inevitably, I’d used up all savings (some $40,000), paying the rent over two years, and for meetings, travel, and food in those times.
I’d always been a spiritual person, which is different from being a religious one. I believe, I suppose, in Life, rather than God. And that was the only thing I held on to, that very first night at the shelter, as emotions welled up in my heart. My mind was swirling with doubts, fear was the prevailing sentiment.
There was no one I could talk to, except one. So I texted her – all the way to London – and asked if she could call me. She had cheaper calls and I desperately needed someone to speak to. The room was dark, and I’d slumped onto the floor. “What the hell am I doing here?” I kept asking myself. Then the phone rang and it was Elaine.
I’d been in tears by then. “I don’t know what I am doing here,” I said to her. “Andrew, pray to Him,” she replied. “You know he’s always taken care of you,” she said. “I know but I’m not sure now. Why am I here?” I asked. “Because you may not see it now but there is a purpose,” she answered.
I told her I know that but it is still hard for me. I’d always believed that if you do good, things will be well. But the situation I was in was tearing me apart. My responsibility to my mother, my responsibility to the friends and volunteers who had spent time and effort over the preceding 2 or 3 years on the website, which had become popular.
I was physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted. I was spiritually parched, having let go of that path. How could I go on? What is there to hold me?
I didn’t sleep much that night, perhaps for just one or two hours. I sat on the floor, my only companion were a thumping headache and fear. Where do I go from here? I remember that night very vividly for it was also a most humbling experience.
The experience of having fallen so low that you end up in a homeless shelter doesn’t just make you realise that you are vulnerable and dependent on others, it also chews away at your dignity and self-worth, your self-esteem. It breaks you down to the bare bones.
I didn’t realise it then, but perhaps that was what I needed at that time. To be laid bare so I could take a long hard look at myself. Things always happen for a reason.
And so it did, as things turned out.
The next day, I got up just before dawn, to go for a walk at the nearby park which was just across the road from the shelter. I needed to clear my head. [I wrote about this earlier in another post. Read it here: And then the sun came through the trees.]
Soon after, some friends and I “discovered” the homeless people living in that park and this set off a whole series of events which led us to report on the stories of the homeless, bringing their plight to the attention of the authorities and the public. An issue which we stayed with for more than five months, telling the human stories of these homeless people.
As the shelter itself got more crowded, I started to hear that many were on the waiting list, including families with children. The bottom level of the house had been compartmentalised into cubicles which provided just enough room for one person each. So, I moved to one of those cubicles, and gave up the room to a family.
I soon got used to living with the homeless and spoke to them once in a while. [I will write about their stories another time.]
3 months after I’d first moved in, things started to get better and I had some money. So, I eventually moved out to another rental flat, surviving the best I could with whatever donations the website brought in.
Being homeless and living in a shelter is not a pleasant experience. It is not just about the physical environment – that you are there because you have failed. It is also about the emotions you go through, how your dignity and self-worth have hit rock bottom.
What it taught me, besides realising some things about myself, were also the compassion of human beings. Like the pastor who reached his hand out to me, a complete stranger to him. I will always be eternally grateful to him. In another time, he would be called a saint. Indeed, he is. At least in my mind. For I was not the only one he helped and is helping. There are countless others.
The experience also taught me empathy, and how each of us can do something – just like the pastor – for those around us who have fallen on hard times.
But personally, having moved on from there, these lessons and experiences informed and continues to influence the way I look at life – and at those who struggle.
I am grateful for having gone through this particular experience, even though it was not a very pleasant one. I am grateful because it brought me to the very depths of despair, and to emerge from it with a greater understanding of Life, and of my fellow men.
Andrew Loh
