After seeing our parents, likely single parent, go through misery at work, and die, what do you feel you have left to convince you life is joy and that you have energy left in you to live it and find it?
My mom died last year. Felt like the final nail in my family coffin. It's just me and my brother now. My mom raised me with the hardest work she could find after my crack addict father gave her a stroke by bashing her head against the wall one day.
All of the philosophy and hard work in the world doesn't seem to make a difference, sometimes.
Lukacs once wrote the proletariat is the subject of history. I firmly believe this still, even if he died doubting it.
What makes your living through working poverty worth it to you?