Photo Essay: What Do You Do When the Homeless Man on the Street is Your Father?
I documented the difficult experience of reconnecting with my homeless father.

Photo: Courtesy of Diana Kim
This photo essay is part of a photographic project I began nearly five years ago, documenting the homeless of Honolulu. During that time, I learned that my own father was living on the streets, and I began to chronicle our encounters, to try to put the experience into perspective.
Initially, the fact that I couldn’t “fix” my dad tore me apart. And because our time together on the streets was more than I had ever spent with him as a child, I struggled to reconcile my feelings toward my father’s absence in my life, while continuing to care deeply for him and other homeless individuals. Over time, I learned to navigate through my feelings of desperation and became more vocal in my community about my father’s condition and what it’s like to watch a loved one battle mental illness.
Sharing this family story is scary. I am afraid it’s a story that won’t have a happy ending. I am afraid because I know I can’t change him. I am afraid that people will judge me, and my father, and frame their views based on their own experiences. But I also know that this could reach people who are having similar experiences. We have to try. I have to keep trying.
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1988Photo: Courtesy of Diana KimOne of the only photos I have of my dad and myself from my childhood. I remember this day clearly. My dad ran a gas station, and my mom would take me out for quick drives after lunchtime to visit him at the store. He always greeted me with a cherry-red Ring Pop.Photo: Courtesy of Diana KimOne of the only photos I have of my dad and myself from my childhood. I remember this day clearly. My dad ran a gas station, and my mom would take me out for quick drives after lunchtime to visit him at the store. He always greeted me with a cherry-red Ring Pop.
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April 12, 2013Photo: Diana KimI had not seen or talked to my father for years and got a phone call from my grandmother about his living conditions—he refused to bathe, eat or take his medications. I didn’t know what to expect. When I found him that day, he didn’t recognize me or acknowledge my presence. He just sat on a wall and stared into the asphalt below. I sat next to him and kept calling out to him, “Dad? Are you okay? Dad? What’s going on?” Not a single reply. I looked down at his half-ripped sock, the layers of grime caked over his leg, and tears started to form in my eyes. I couldn’t understand why this was happening.Photo: Diana KimI had not seen or talked to my father for years and got a phone call from my grandmother about his living conditions—he refused to bathe, eat or take his medications. I didn’t know what to expect. When I found him that day, he didn’t recognize me or acknowledge my presence. He just sat on a wall and stared into the asphalt below. I sat next to him and kept calling out to him, “Dad? Are you okay? Dad? What’s going on?” Not a single reply. I looked down at his half-ripped sock, the layers of grime caked over his leg, and tears started to form in my eyes. I couldn’t understand why this was happening.
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Photo: Diana Kim
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August 4, 2013Photo: Diana KimOn this day, I found him standing at the corner of a busy Kāheka intersection, staring into the asphalt. His hair was matted and his head rolled in small circles. I tried calling him, but he didn’t hear me. Stepping closer, I mustered the courage to tap him on the shoulder. Still nothing. A woman nearby said, “Don’t bother, he’s been standing there for days.” Part of me wanted to scream at this woman, and the world, for being so callous. Yell that he was my father, and that she was heartless not to care. But none of that would change the circumstances. So instead of screaming, I faced her and said, “I have to try.”Photo: Diana KimOn this day, I found him standing at the corner of a busy Kāheka intersection, staring into the asphalt. His hair was matted and his head rolled in small circles. I tried calling him, but he didn’t hear me. Stepping closer, I mustered the courage to tap him on the shoulder. Still nothing. A woman nearby said, “Don’t bother, he’s been standing there for days.” Part of me wanted to scream at this woman, and the world, for being so callous. Yell that he was my father, and that she was heartless not to care. But none of that would change the circumstances. So instead of screaming, I faced her and said, “I have to try.”
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August 7, 2014Photo: Diana KimWith Hurricane Isabelle approaching, I bought rain gear for my father, a yellow slicker and a fresh T-shirt. When I found him, he was arguing with someone ... someone I couldn’t see, but someone who appeared to be very real in his world. He was angry. Would he attack me? I wasn’t sure. When I slowly walked over to him, he seemed to recognize me, but then refused the jacket, just as he always did, and slowly rolled back into his world of argument. I was losing him again, and I had to drive away feeling defeated and disconnected. I’m grateful the storm missed us.Photo: Diana KimWith Hurricane Isabelle approaching, I bought rain gear for my father, a yellow slicker and a fresh T-shirt. When I found him, he was arguing with someone ... someone I couldn’t see, but someone who appeared to be very real in his world. He was angry. Would he attack me? I wasn’t sure. When I slowly walked over to him, he seemed to recognize me, but then refused the jacket, just as he always did, and slowly rolled back into his world of argument. I was losing him again, and I had to drive away feeling defeated and disconnected. I’m grateful the storm missed us.
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October 10, 2013Photo: Diana KimI had been searching for my father for weeks and finally found him sitting behind a dumpster, tucked under a bush for shade. This was taken on one of the days when my father recognized me and agreed to seek help, but he later changed his mind. It was hard to shake off feelings of defeat when I felt like we finally made a breakthrough for him to get treatment, but he wouldn’t go anywhere.Photo: Diana KimI had been searching for my father for weeks and finally found him sitting behind a dumpster, tucked under a bush for shade. This was taken on one of the days when my father recognized me and agreed to seek help, but he later changed his mind. It was hard to shake off feelings of defeat when I felt like we finally made a breakthrough for him to get treatment, but he wouldn’t go anywhere.
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March 12, 2014Photo: Diana KimAt night, after my children and husband went to bed, I would visit my father to give him food. I offered him blankets and jackets, but he always refused them. Most nights, I would find him already asleep, lying on his side in the fetal position. I would sit beside him, on the other side of the box, and watch the cars drive by, wondering if he would ever sleep in a bed again.Photo: Diana KimAt night, after my children and husband went to bed, I would visit my father to give him food. I offered him blankets and jackets, but he always refused them. Most nights, I would find him already asleep, lying on his side in the fetal position. I would sit beside him, on the other side of the box, and watch the cars drive by, wondering if he would ever sleep in a bed again.
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June 5, 2014Photo: Diana KimThere were times when my heart just couldn’t handle seeing him like this. I would wait in my car and bury my face behind the steering wheel. And yet I couldn’t bear to drive away. I would stay parked and let him walk away, instead.Photo: Diana KimThere were times when my heart just couldn’t handle seeing him like this. I would wait in my car and bury my face behind the steering wheel. And yet I couldn’t bear to drive away. I would stay parked and let him walk away, instead.
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Photo: Diana Kim
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October 20, 2014Photo: Diana KimI got a phone call from my cousin: My dad had had a heart attack. Someone had found him face-down on a sidewalk and cared enough to call the police, and now he was in critical care. It was overwhelming news. At the hospital, he looked so frail, eyes closed, and he was the cleanest I had seen him in nearly two years. His cheeks were a little fuller, despite the hard lines and shadows etched into his face. As we were about to leave, my father’s eyes opened and he called out my name. His mental clarity surprised me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle when he asked me to bring some manapua next time. I left that day feeling lighter.Photo: Diana KimI got a phone call from my cousin: My dad had had a heart attack. Someone had found him face-down on a sidewalk and cared enough to call the police, and now he was in critical care. It was overwhelming news. At the hospital, he looked so frail, eyes closed, and he was the cleanest I had seen him in nearly two years. His cheeks were a little fuller, despite the hard lines and shadows etched into his face. As we were about to leave, my father’s eyes opened and he called out my name. His mental clarity surprised me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle when he asked me to bring some manapua next time. I left that day feeling lighter.
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Dec. 1, 2014Photo: Diana KimIt feels like I met my father for the first time today. He called this morning to see if I could have coffee and catch up. I ran straight out of the house. When I saw him, my heart nearly stopped. He looked better than I had expected, and so different from when he was in the hospital. We must have hugged for a couple of minutes. It felt good to see him so healthy, and standing so tall again.Photo: Diana KimIt feels like I met my father for the first time today. He called this morning to see if I could have coffee and catch up. I ran straight out of the house. When I saw him, my heart nearly stopped. He looked better than I had expected, and so different from when he was in the hospital. We must have hugged for a couple of minutes. It felt good to see him so healthy, and standing so tall again.
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Dec. 16, 2014Photo: Diana KimI gave my old camera to my dad, in hopes of sparking his interest in photography and giving him something to look forward to. I want him to stay in this good place.Photo: Diana KimI gave my old camera to my dad, in hopes of sparking his interest in photography and giving him something to look forward to. I want him to stay in this good place.
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January 10, 2015Photo: Diana KimMy father contemplates quietly at one of our lunchtime meetings. It still scares me that something could go wrong, and the reality is that he could easily stop his treatment plan and find himself right back on the streets again. Ultimately, I can’t control his actions, but I can offer support.Photo: Diana KimMy father contemplates quietly at one of our lunchtime meetings. It still scares me that something could go wrong, and the reality is that he could easily stop his treatment plan and find himself right back on the streets again. Ultimately, I can’t control his actions, but I can offer support.
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February 10, 2015Photo: Diana KimThe journey to recovery takes time, and I remind myself what it means to accept the idea that he is “good for today.” It means I don’t place unrealistic expectations on him, on our relationship, or on life in general. It means I am aware of the delicate balance in loving someone and knowing when and how to let go of the negativity in order to move forward and grow. I am looking forward to watching him regain his strength, and am hopeful that the next chapter of his life will be better. My father is a survivor, and so am I.Photo: Diana KimThe journey to recovery takes time, and I remind myself what it means to accept the idea that he is “good for today.” It means I don’t place unrealistic expectations on him, on our relationship, or on life in general. It means I am aware of the delicate balance in loving someone and knowing when and how to let go of the negativity in order to move forward and grow. I am looking forward to watching him regain his strength, and am hopeful that the next chapter of his life will be better. My father is a survivor, and so am I.