The Most Difficult Decision

      There really isn't much point to working when you think about it. Get food, eat food, sure, but it doesn't build towards anything except allows you to survive, and if you're smart enough about it, and work hard enough when you can, you can amass enough cash that surviving in some corner of the world welcoming to foreigners for a year or two years at a time is possible. If you're from another country originally, it is even easier, since you have family to look after your home while you are away, that is, if you don't mind them living in it, rent free.

      Working to survive is easy enough, but it doesn't feel empowering, at least not after the first few attempts. Especially when you see how much some in our society are rewarded for their hard work. See them get nice mansions, and cars and other wonderful toys. See them save for the children's education and get them through college and see them succeed even more than they did.

      Since it's not possible to do all these things at once, nor is there ever enough money for all of them anyway, it always seems enticing to buy a home. Financing for it is easy enough, and the payments are little more than the rent paid without equity. That is, if you don't mind spending your whole life savings for the privilege of possibly owning 25-30 years in the future.

      But it's hard to remember that there are downside risks to buying a home. The home could lose value. The payments could become difficult to make. And, if the payments become difficult to make, the bank can essentially invalidate the money paid into it, including the down payment which could have represented many years of comfortable living

     The dream, though, the dream of owning your own home is powerful enough to overcome these practical considerations.

     But for Santos, the dream died stillborn in his chest, and he was left with the funeral expenses. His whole life savings was gone; he was many thousands of dollars in debt; if he was not able to dodge eviction, he would have no place to live. And there was the shame. The shame of having to walk away. It was hard to live down the shame of not living up to his obligation.

     There was no way around it now, though. There was no escape from the lawman. Pretty soon the Sheriff would be by to put locks on the doors.

     There was one hope. The one hope was to refinance somehow, but that seemed too late. What could the bank possibly do to make it so he could stay in his home?
     There was only one escape from all these terrible thoughts, and that was to work. To work and to earn money and to see if it could possibly be enough. He knew it wouldn't be, but it was all he had for now.