The College Problem
This is a story about how a table – yes, really, a table – taught me hope, perseverance, and the importance of found family. It starts where most complicated stories start: at college. Moving to a big, bustling city, not knowing a soul there, and having to quickly determine my desired life-path within less than a year was like being thrown into the middle of the ocean with a single pool noodle to hold myself up while I attempt to swim to shore. Basically, I was drowning (figuratively, of course). Until I found Elyana, my suitemate who was having similar existential problems. I think the best thing we did together was go to Temple’s collaborative art mart organized on Carlisle Street, right behind our dorm.
The art mart was a splash of color. Chalk drawings covering the asphalt, local Philadelphia bands playing their niche indie tunes, vendors selling paintings, jewelry, hats, you name it. I felt like I had entered a new realm. It was like looking into the sun. People were laughing with friends, dancing on the street, and enjoying the fresh summer air. Finally, all of my worries and self-doubts about the past choices I’ve made vanished. I realized that I was in the right place.
A year later, here I was getting ready for the exact same art mart, helping Elyana set everything up. I knew I wanted to not only do her justice but also the art mart as a whole since it gave me immense comfort and optimism during such a distressing time. My four roommates and I scrambled all day doing everything, the last piece of the puzzle was the most important factor: a foldable table. Deep in the neighborhoods of South Philly, our prized item was waiting for us to collect it.
The Search
It must’ve just slipped our minds. We were so focused on the actual art at hand that we forgot about getting something to actually display it all. So, the five of us got to searching. We posted on all of our social media accounts looking for anyone who owned a plastic table. We were convinced if anyone would have a foldable table it would be college kids since we all know how much us twentysomethings love beer pong. It’s like a frat furniture staple to have a foldable table. But alas, all we got back in response were crickets. Either the tables we found online weren’t what we were looking for, too expensive, or too far away. We had less than a day until the art mart and no table to put the art on. We were out of options.
Until Elyana had an incredible epiphany.
El is originally from Portland, Maine. Almost her whole family lives up in New England. Except her grandparents. For the winter and spring months, they live in a row house in South Philadelphia until they move back to Maine for summer and fall. She told us how she distantly remembered them having a foldable table in their guest room on the second floor, and according to her blurry memory, it was about the same size we needed for the art mart.
The Journey
So, we formulated a plan. Tomorrow, we would wake up bright and early to begin our trek over to South Philly. Take the Septa Broad Street Line down to Tasker-Morris and walk about fourteen blocks down Tasker to get to 5th Street. Scramble around Elyana’s grandparents’ house in search of the table and then lug it all the way back fourteen blocks, onto the Septa, and down to Carlisle Street with all of the art and merchandise in hand. Pretty simple. The hardest part was actually doing it.
Of course, Mother Nature must not have heard about our long, expectant journey because it was a brutal eighty-five degrees out that day. Not a cloud in sight. Not a single chill of the wind. It was just dead, sticky heat. We became very sweaty, very fast.
When we finally arrived at the house, we all filed in. One at a time, we began our hunt for the table. Elyana found it tucked away on the second floor and trudged it down the stairs.
The table was around twenty pounds, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but on a hot summer day where you’re dragging it across the city, it can get a bit heavy. The size of it was the biggest battle. We decided to take shifts holding the table. One person at each corner lifting it into the air by resting it on our shoulders. Meanwhile, the fifth person would direct the table-wranglers around obstacles like trees and cars. It was pure teamwork at its finest.
The Art Mart
With all of the art and extra merchandise, it meant we could only have two people carrying the table which made walking those five blocks north feel even longer than the fourteen we had done twice over. When we finally arrived at the art mart, it was utter chaos. We had no idea where to set up and it was starting soon, so the five of us began assembling and laying things out as fast as we could. Elyana had a clothing rack for some of her clothes she was selling but the tool given in the box wouldn’t screw in the screw holes to assemble it. So, I had to run all the way back to the apartment and get our toolbox.
Sprinting down 15th street with a blistering headache, absolutely soaked in my own sweat, no one could blame me for being frustrated. What if no one even showed up? What if this was all for nothing? I had put so much pressure on myself and the whole event to try and replicate the feelings I had at the last art mart that I had successfully ruined the day for myself.
Found Family
But I was wrong. So many of our friends we had made over the last year had come to show their support for Elyana’s art, and new faces – that would soon become regular faces – offered their appreciation too. I forgot all about my stress and fear. In that moment, I was the most present I’ve ever been. We had all built this event together and everyone’s contributions were noticed. I realized that there was no way this all could’ve been for nothing because I would have gained something out of this day no matter what happened. I bonded with my new best friends, toured, and traveled all around my new second home of Philadelphia, and got to participate in something I never expected I would be doing two, three years ago. Like usual, the Temple community reminded me of the importance of perseverance. I guess it’s our motto for a pretty good reason.
