Homelessness in San Francisco: How a Shelter Guard’s Act of Kindness Gave Me the Courage to Write | by GameHada | Aug, 2025

The Founder’s Journey: From Homelessness to Startup Growth

A Note from the Author:

It’s been about three months since I first wrote this story. Over time, I’ve grown in both experience and writing skills, so I’ve revisited and refined this piece to share it with you again in a clearer, more heartfelt way.
If you’d like, you can also read the original version here: [The Chicken That Made Me Write (Original)]

It’s June 15th, 12:12 a.m. It’s been 11 days since I entered a homeless shelter in San Francisco after being evicted from my apartment just 12 days ago. Experiencing homelessness in San Francisco is nothing like I ever imagined — every day is filled with sleepless nights, relentless survival, and moments that can break your spirit… but also moments of compassion and hope.

Tonight, I’m writing from a waiting room chair because the pink recliner I usually sleep in was already taken. Surviving homelessness means rest becomes a privilege, not a guarantee.

When you’re living through homelessness in San Francisco, every night brings new challenges. Last night was my first night trying to sleep in this waiting room. I managed to stay awake until around 4 a.m., but after that, my head kept dropping toward the floor from exhaustion.

Without a railing for support, proper sleep seems impossible. Around me, other women in the homeless shelter shift in their seats — some snoring softly, some scrolling through phones, all of us just trying to survive another night.

My laptop’s AI suggested, “How about documenting your homeless shelter experiences and sharing them with others?”

I never imagined I’d experience homelessness in San Francisco. Every day in shelter life feels unreal. Very few friends know where I am — only one, whom I told the night before eviction.

Sharing my story means revealing vulnerability — my weakest moments, my shame, my humiliation. Vulnerability is a risk, yet maybe that’s exactly why this story of surviving homelessness needs to be told.

Life in a homeless shelter means writing feels like a rare luxury. Most people here are focused only on survival. Even though time stretches out, it’s all spent just getting through each day. But since this has become my life, perhaps sharing my homeless shelter experiences is the one thing I can do right now.

Last night, I missed the shelter dinner. Free meal services for the homeless in San Francisco run on strict schedules, and after staying awake the night before, I couldn’t keep my eyes open during the day. I dozed off on the Muni and woke up too late for dinner.

The shelter offered some watery soup and bread, but I was still hungry. Too hungry to sleep, I went to the front desk and asked for a snack bar.

That’s when one of the security guards approached me quietly:

“Would you like some chicken?”

I was surprised. “You have chicken right now?”

“We’ve got 3 or 4 pieces left,” he replied.

Soon after, he brought me warm chicken and a cup of tea from the staff room. I was so grateful for this unexpected act of kindness.

Out of all the women in this homeless shelter, why me? Was it because I’m the only Asian woman here? Or did my constant typing on a laptop catch his eye? I might never know.

But that act of kindness came at the exact moment I needed it.

Sometimes I promise myself to “stay strong” and “be brave,” but then reality crashes over me — the fact that even a basic human right like sleep can vanish. At those times, I feel close to collapse. I want to yell at God, “What did I do so wrong to deserve this?”

Last night was one of those times.

Yet those three pieces of chicken and the cup of tea felt like God whispering, “Just a little more courage.”

That simple kindness got me through another day.

I ate the chicken, took my medication with tea, wrapped up the last piece for tomorrow, and wondered: What can I do right now?

So, I wrote this story.

The shelter guard’s compassion — reaching out when I was weary — brought these words to life. His act of kindness during my darkest hour reminded me that even while surviving homelessness in San Francisco, humanity still endures.

If this ever becomes a book, I want to dedicate it to the nameless angels whose small acts of kindness kept me from giving up. To every security guard, shelter worker, and stranger who sparked even a flicker of hope in the darkness.

To anyone reading this who has ever shown compassion to someone surviving homelessness — you might never realize the difference your small act made. Sometimes, your kindness gives someone just enough courage to get through one more night.

And sometimes, one more night is all we need to find our way back to hope.