Next to an abandoned electric factory with SPAIN (the S painted over) sprayed on its side, the now trash cluttered shoreline of Penn Treaty Park was where the Treaty of Shackamaxon was made. My first time at the park happened to be my first time in Philadelphia.

My friend Jiya and I watched the sun go down as families and lovers scattered across the park. A poodle’s silhouette patrolled the shoreline for what felt like eternity, the lights of boats and satellites reaching closer towards us as people began to leave. 

I sat next to Jiya on a log by the water, as we spilled bits of the past that were once unspoken to each other. 

It was easier to talk about things with a distance from where they occurred; we both grew up together in Virginia and had gone on to Richmond for our first year of college. 

Hundreds of years away from the native tribes and reckless colonizers, the park summoned a similar attitude of surrender from myself– just as Shackamaxon decidedly sacrificed sacred land in hopes of peace and amity, I was hopeful on the crossroads that if I spoke my truth I would eventually work towards the change I desired.

 During this time I was chronically restless and exhausted; unsure of where I would be transferring schools and unable to imagine peace beyond the long term relationship I most recently was grieving. 

 In Philadelphia, I offered Jiya my honestly, surrendering my usual defenses. Sharing with her was the first step to change, staring myself dead in the face as I spoke to the water and to Jiya, facing the reality I hated, yet had raised for myself over the past few years.

When I saw a favorite artist of mine, Redviel, was going to be performing at the Foundry, I began to craft an adventure for Jiya and I: a trip during the middle of our classes during early April that would end up costing us way too much. 

My uncle had always been quite the endorser for Philadelphia, having attended University of the Arts back in the 60s. My aunt grew to love the city herself—although never having lived in it—so much so that she missed my highschool graduation for the annual flower festival. 

Personally, I viewed Pennsylvania as merely Pennsylvania: the state my mom was raised in, my relatives died in, and a pit stop before New York.

When I was originally applying to colleges, I neglected to look deeper into  my uncle’s suggestions of school’s in Philly. My mind was set on New York City, but upon financial reality, I ended up attending Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, VA.

Within the first week of college I decided upon not returning for my Sophomore year, a reflection of my lack of security with myself, rather than solely the environment.

Troughs and Highs

For the first time in months, I broken my pattern of life by taking the train to Philadelphia. Along the way, the train suddenly stopped in DC. “There has been a fatality on the tracks,”  the conductor spoke over the scratchy intercom. 

“For the first time in months, I broke my pattern of life by taking the train to Philadelphia.”

 The skyline was so beautiful, and I felt rather free.

It’s important to look at the sky, even when there is very little showing amongst the buildings. Getting out of my usual environment reminded me of the importance of breaking patterns of life, and the direct correlation doing so has to unhealthy patterns of the mind. 

When we arrived at the AirBnb I booked, Jiya and I chatted inside like time was a luxury before heading to the concert, more excited about having actually made it to Philadelphia amid our never ending day of travel anxieties. 

To my surprise, the concert venue, The Foundry, was a two minute drive from where we were staying. Upon entry, our tickets wouldn’t load, but after a few minutes the event staff let us in anyways. 

Jiya and I made it in time for the last few songs of the concert–clique enough, the journey had made our destination all the more sweeter. 

The months prior I had been feeling lost as I detached myself from the person I felt was my other half for the past few years, guilt-ridden and shocked with how I let my relationship become so demoralizing. For the first time in a long time the night allowed for me to exhale and let go momentarily without feeling the need to sob. It felt as if everything had been leading up to that moment, the turning point in a rather anticlimactic coming-of-age film, an otherwise insignificant scene to audiences, but nonetheless a precious moment for me.

For the last few minutes of the concert I was stupidly happy and in awe, relieved and immersed within the intimate venue and Redviel’s performance.

Both the good and the bad of that day were both beautiful in the sense they were meant to be. Like I said I was stupidly happy, one of those times where joy is so present it won’t allow me to forget about its existence unlike most of the time. 

I Learn to Value my Past by Reflecting Upon It

If someone told me I was going to spend hundreds on a trip to Philadelphia specifically for a concert I would only see the last minutes of, proceed to miss a bus on the way back and have to spend 200$ on an Uber, I would have said no to going in the first place. Now, I would probably also say “No” even knowing the outcome, as I am at one of those points in life where I could really use that money for future loans. Thankfully, in this case, my past actions cannot be undone.

The New Jersey Turnpike was soul churning: heartless displays of capitalism and human desire embodied across strip club and political billboards, brown land occupied by trash and crippled construction machines.

The moments of peace that I found during the duration of the trip were discarded here and only found again upon reflecting on how fateful visiting Philadelphia was. In the case of my finances and spring semester academic progress, ignorance served as consequential moments of bliss.

My attempts to plan, per usual, did not go as intended, but unlike other occasions I wholeheartedly accepted the situation and rolled with it.

My Self-Professed “Treaty”

By the Delaware River, following the short but well lived concert, Jiya and I shared the good and the ugly of our past we hoped to reconcile with, unbeknownst to the history of the land we sat upon. We agreed upon how our delayed train was fated in a multitude of ways, introspection induced by the conductor’s announcement and our luck to have made it just in time for the last few songs of the concert. 

The area was muddy but warm, depressing in a sweet kind of way. 

I felt half miserable and half okay to be sitting on the shoreline, a patch of nature in the expanse of Philadelphia backing us. 

The sky helped me feel less down, guiding my gaze aimlessly and endlessly as to never get held up on a singular thought; although, my most relevant anxieties did murmur from time to time.

Only until recently did I learn about the treaty between William Penn and Shackamaxon and how it was the first made between natives and settlers to have withstood time, one of friendship and amity. Only recently did I visit Kensington, not too far from Penn Treaty, where I momentarily mistook a crowd of homeless people for those waiting in line at some venue. 

It’s a bit sad to think that addiction and litter now scatter once sacred land, but it certainly does not define it, just as nothing ever will. 

A Seed of an Idea

Jiya brought up the idea of transferring to Philadelphia as I shared with her how I had no idea where I was going to attend school at, the financial reality of going to New York unaligned with my persistent dreams of doing so. Whether it was the sentimentality of the night that softened my stubborn self enough to look into Philadelphia schools, or the initial seed planted long ago by my Uncle, I ended up applying to Temple a week before the applications closed. 

When the time eventually came to put down a deposit for Fall semester, I swayed rather openly between my options, many of which were in New York. I ultimately chose Temple University; Not because of Philadelphia ,or a romanticized idea I had, but because the other schools were too expensive or did not have on campus housing. Just as everything always had ever been, it was just right.

The entirety of the trip was a reminder of my ability to move, act freely, and define my own self and life. I remembered the importance of “going with the flow” as my Dad always told me to do, and how my inability in the past year was restricting me from going anywhere.

“Of Friendship and Amity”

Penn Treaty Park has a special place in my heart. I grew to love it despite my grief that night. 

I told Jiya everything I told no one, allowing the stark reality I had curated up until that point to settle in so I would never repeat all the mistakes I made before. I am proud to say I haven’t, perhaps being a bit too careful– or maybe just the right amount— to not allow myself to desire recklessly.

That night I spoke to the river really, fearful to look Jiya in the eye, speaking all my truths despite my reluctance. Although it made me feel disgusting long before I felt relieved, I knew I needed to let go of my secrets in order to make the changes I desired. 

Knowing now that Penn Treaty is where a vow was made that went unbroken during a time when settlers notoriously took advantage of Native Americans kindness makes me feel all the more destined to be where I am now; living by myself in Philadelphia, light years away from my guilt ridden self I was less than a year ago. 

I have matured to a place of valuing self preservation over the highs I used to endlessly chase. Although boredom is far less romantic than self destruction, it is important for me to be alone and process all that I experience, feel, and do.

Philadelphia is a wonderful place, as much as Richmond is, my hometown is, New York is, and everywhere else. Philadelphia just happened to be where I settled, the place I accepted to be my own. It was only until returning to Richmond after first visiting Philadelphia that I began to explore the city, my resentment towards Richmond slowly dismantled as I realized it was my limited perspective of it and distaste towards who I acted as at times when living there. 

The Power of Perspective and Environment

Environment is undoubtedly important to changing one’s self, it’s difficult to combat people’s set opinions of you in small towns, difficult to see the larger picture when living in a basement, and impossible to imagine growth, change, and a dream-like future when you see the same things and people day after day.

In this city I know no one from my hometown, I have no memories from my former relationship tethered to any sort of landmark, and I am finally able to claim a reality in which I don’t idealize anyone, or anything, in order to feel a purpose. 

On a more tangible topic regarding my opinion on Philadelphia, it has many facilities of public transportation, and the diversity of the city allows me to never feel stagnant while living here: that is, as long as I choose to step outside.

Although there are many days I forget to, this day included, knowing that I am only a ride away from the waterfront, from Center City, and from all that’s in between allows me to never feel too stuck. 

Often people associate crime, addiction and poverty with the city, forgetting to look up from their phones and the trash ridden streets when walking, neglecting the sky above them that humanity collectively falls beneath. I find Philadelphia to be a lovely place because I found it to be. The city is only unloved by those who can’t find it in their hearts to feel such love.

I tend to speak too much, often feeling the need to explain myself to others. I think sharing this will be just the right amount of words.