The Price of Survival: Why I Refuse to be a Silent Slave in LA
Survival Strategy by Natsu
The Invisible War of Prices
The rent in Los Angeles isn't just "high"—it's insane. It’s a slow-motion execution. How are we even supposed to survive here? They say you need a monthly income at least double your rent, especially if you have a child. Let’s do the math. It’s basically telling the poor, "Just die already."
I finally get why the tents are multiplying on the sidewalks. People are exhausted. The simple act of existing has become a full-time, back-breaking job. And yet, the world looks at the homeless with nothing but disgust. Yeah, I get it—they’re "nuisances," they're messy. But they’re also us, just a few paychecks away. When everyone—homeless or not—is living on the razor's edge, their hearts rot. You can feel the collective bitterness in the air. This price tag on life is what breeds crime; it’s the desperation that pushes people over the edge.
There are protests everywhere, but does anyone listen? The world is broken because the people at the top—the ones pulling the strings of inflation and "adjusting" the economy—are living in a different dimension. They’re sitting in their gated mansions, safe and wealthy, so they don't have to see us. We are invisible to them. They talk about numbers and percentages while we talk about whether we can afford eggs and gas. It’s easy to ignore a fire when you’re not the one standing in the flames.
Work or Homeless—The Slave's Choice
If I only needed $5 or $10, I’d just collect recycling bottles. It’s easy, it’s exercise, and it’s quiet. But you can’t live on bottles forever. Eventually, you have to go back to "the world." You have to tolerate toxic coworkers and rude customers. You force yourself to communicate, grinding your soul just to earn a paycheck.
And then, where does that money go? Most of it vanishes instantly into rent and insurance. Then comes the taxes. What am I even working for? You work until the stress makes you sick, only to hand that hard-earned money over for insane medical bills.
It’s slavery. Pure and simple. We are modern-day slaves. No matter how much we scream, nothing changes, so the slaves just keep enduring. That’s the reality. In this city, you only have two choices: You grit your teeth and work as a slave, or you become homeless. That’s it. There is no third door.
No Safe Harbor
When I first came to America in 2001, things were different. Life was affordable. But then I got married, had a child, became a single mother, and got swallowed by a whirlwind of chaotic days. I was just trying to survive each 24 hours. When I finally looked up, the world had changed. Prices had gone insane. Time is a terrifying thing.
Suddenly, I’m middle-aged, and the world has become a place where finding a job that provides a "stable life" feels like a pipe dream. I escaped my toxic parents in Japan to find mental peace here, and physically, I am free from my mother. But financially? I am in a chokehold.
I see people working in the U.S. and living in Japan to take advantage of the weak yen. That sounds like a dream compared to this. I don't know how long this economy can keep bleeding us dry. That’s why I keep pushing this blog and YouTube, even though they don’t make a cent yet. I’m planting seeds. I have to.
As I get older, selling my time and labor at a "workplace" will only get harder. If I don't build something of my own now, I’m finished. In this world, a single income is a trap. You can never, ever feel safe. Not about anything.
The Bitter Reality of Side Hustles
I’ve been trying to increase my income for a long time, but none of my side hustles ever turned into a real gold mine. Maybe I just didn’t know the "right way" to do it, but the reality was far more brutal than the gurus tell you.
First, there’s Reselling (eBay/Poshmark). If you’re thinking about starting this, don’t. Unless you are an expert in vintage items with a sharp eye for treasure, you’ll get trapped in a "price-cut war." I spent endless hours listing items only to make tiny profits. I saw so many sellers quit because they couldn't find popular items to flip. It’s a time-consuming trap that drains your energy for pennies.
Then there’s Uber driving. Seven or eight years ago, the pay was slightly better, but the risks are terrifying. You have to deal with "the crazies"—passengers who are mentally unstable or clearly high on drugs. Dropping off or picking up in dangerous neighborhoods? That’s pure fear. If you must do it, stay in safe areas during daylight, but never work at night. It’s not worth your life.
I even tried House Cleaning. It seems simple until something goes wrong. Like I wrote before on this blog, I was once accused of being a thief. That’s the risk you take when you step into a stranger's home. You offer your labor, and in return, you get insulted and blamed. [https://www.3to100rebuild.com/2026/04/the-day-i-was-accused-of-being-thief.html]
The Comfort of Simplicity and the Void of Meaning
In the end, I’ve realized that maybe the best choice is simply working under a safe employer. I once had a part-time job at the post office. All I did was weigh packages and slap labels on them. It was a simple, repetitive task that even a child could do. The pay was only minimum wage, but it felt good. Why? Because I didn’t have to think. I didn’t have to "hustle" or strategize. The post office provided a relatively safe space, and for a while, that was enough.
If you’re smart or have some capital, maybe buying stocks is the way to go. I see people growing their wealth that way, though it sounds like a foreign language to me.
But regardless of the method, the anxiety never truly leaves. I find myself constantly straining to hear any news about income, desperately trying to gather information just to quiet the fear of the future. We work, we struggle, we retire, and then we spend our final years fighting old age and disease until we die. That’s the human cycle.
People ask, "What is the meaning of life?" I’ve come to think there is no meaning. We aren't here for some grand purpose. We are just here.
Why I Still Plant Seeds
So, if life has no meaning and the world is a trap, why am I still here? Why am I still typing this blog and editing YouTube videos that don't make a cent?
I don't have a noble answer. I don't use medication to numb the reality, and I don't have a "secret trick" to stay positive. I am just a survivor. In a world where you are either a slave or homeless, I choose to keep planting these digital seeds. Maybe they will never sprout. Maybe I’ll be gone before they do.
But as long as I am standing in this expensive, chaotic city of Los Angeles, I refuse to go down in silence. I write because it’s the only thing that belongs to me. I work on this blog because, in a life defined by taxes and rent, this is my only act of rebellion. I have no peace, and I have no certainty. But I am still here. And for now, that has to be enough.
Thank you sincerely for taking the time to read through my story and strategies today. I am truly grateful for your attention and support as I navigate this journey toward my goals. Every minute of your time spent here is deeply appreciated, and I look forward to sharing more of this reality with you soon.
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