I head home every day from Finchley Road. I get off at the 02 bus stop and walk through the subway to cross the road. 

One particularly cold day, in my usual journey mode, music in my ears, head in the clouds, I stumbled over the corner of a thick mattress poking out across my path. Without much thought, I regained my footing and continued on my way. 

It wasn’t until the next day when I saw that the mattress had sheets on it, and was littered with food, papers and a broken clock, that I started to feel uneasy. This feeling continued, as I became hyperaware of the mattress and the space it inhabited. 

Sometimes I could see a person sleeping on it, sometimes I couldn’t and it was empty. I could never see the person’s face fully. I’m pretty sure they were male but how they came to be there was impossible to know. 

It came into my mind a few times to give the guy something, like to eat or drink. But I didn’t. Maybe because I could see a lot of stuff already there. What, I wondered, could I contribute to this person’s life that I knew nothing about? 

Day by day, the man’s space seemed to gain more life, more identity. An old crate was now serving as a table covered in cartons, wrappers and old books. 

Time passed and I rarely saw the man on the mattress. I knew he must go somewhere every day at the time I passed or perhaps for the whole day. I wondered where he went and what he did. Did he have a secret identity? Did he go to work and conceal that he was sleeping rough? But that felt quite unrealistic. 

We are all prey to our ignorance and quickly choose to forget. I could kind of imagine how he might feel. What it’s like to hide. But I knew I could never truly understand it, with these thoughts and feelings fading as I reached the end of the underpass. 

We are all prey to our ignorance and quickly choose to forget, as the poet and playwright Carol Ann Duffy wrote in her poem War Photographer: 

“The reader’s eyeballs prick with tears between bath and pre-lunch beers.” 

I tried to empathise with this man dwelling in the damp, bleak subway. How had it come to this? It made me appreciate how strong and resilient humans can be. 

There were days when I would pass wearing thick layers and thermals yet still shivering. How did he feel on those days? 

On the days where I was drenched by the rain, I thought of how it would be to never get completely dry. 

I barely feel at home somedays even with a roof over my head. I wondered how he felt having so little to protect him. 

This guy’s home was something I saw every day over months, a year maybe. Sometimes I felt it was too painful and too private to even look. But I did. I watched it grow. At one point, his home had sprawled out and occupied half the walking space. 

I would often want to look at the different things he had, trying to piece together his story. It never felt easy to look for long; afraid that other passers-by would think I was somehow judging. I did wonder about the safety of his situation. How long can someone survive in these harsh conditions? 

The gradual growth of mattress to home disappeared in a snap. 

One day, I got off the bus, same as usual, about to walk through the underpass, expecting to see the man’s shelter. Maybe a little bigger, maybe with a little more character. 

It was gone. 

Empty space. 

The hollow body of a tunnel. 

It takes so little to break something. 

Ignorance is bliss they say. It sure is, but not for the ones we overlook. A single unfelt judgement causes the abrupt disruption of a whole damn life. 

There is no way of telling if it was an unhappy ending for the man. He may have been given a better place to live. He may be in a better state. Something that felt like an end, for me, may simply be a new beginning, for him. 

There is no way of knowing. 

Rising homelessness is yet another symptom of the coronavirus pandemic in Barnet, the last decade has seen close to a dozen homeless people die. 

We are so reluctant to take that extra step to help. We take our comfort for granted. 

Please go beyond giving away a few leftovers on your way home or the loose change from your pockets. 

You could volunteer at your local soup kitchen or donate to a food bank. You can find organisations here that tackle homelessness in London and rely on volunteers. 

If you or someone you know is facing homelessness contact Depaul UK. It’s one of the UK’s largest youth homelessness charities. It provides emergency accommodation, coaching and activity programmes to manage mental health and educational training.

This essay originally appeared on the youth media website Exposure

Exposure is looking for young people’s testimonies of how they are getting through the coronavirus crisis. Please get in touch to share your experiences and advice. 

Ananya is a sixth form student at Woodhouse College. She is currently studying Mathematics, English literature, Psychology and Physics. Ananya is passionate about writing, and fascinated by how much meaning just a few words can hold. You can read more from Ananya at her blog, Tip Of The Pen