{"id":17,"date":"2021-04-20T01:53:02","date_gmt":"2021-04-20T01:53:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/eportfolios.capilanou.ca\/tannermcmahon\/?page_id=17"},"modified":"2021-04-26T05:19:55","modified_gmt":"2021-04-26T05:19:55","slug":"wayfinding","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/eportfolios.capilanou.ca\/tannermcmahon\/wayfinding\/","title":{"rendered":"Wayfinding"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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This adventure started with a walk through the narrow corridors from my 4th floor hotel room. Down I went in the elevator, passed the walls and floors that were covered in white plastic. The plastic squeaked as I walked to the garden which caused a childlike excitement in my heart. It was a cold, overcast day and as I started walking around this little piece of earth. I saw a mix of concrete slabs and short grass and I felt the squash beneath my feet, from the wet grass and mud patches. Various plants caught my eye, the different greens and dead leaves that lay on the floor. I could smell the fabric of my mask and the crisp Vancouver air and I heard the sounds of plane engines as they fall towards the runway. Not to mention the people who were talking from a distance, which reminded me of the outside world. My body moved stiffly like a rusty robot in winter. My joints were like an 80-year-old’s, they started to relax and warm up as each leg took a step. My fingers felt like frozen sticks that tried to write this. As my walk ended, I stared blankly at the hotel’s grey facade and saw people that looked out their windows, like prisoners that look out their prison cells. And the journey back to my warm room was the last bit of freedom I have.\u00a0Many are unfortunate to be prisoners of the street, their views are not like mine. The homeless live differently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n