Month: April 2025

By Colleen Schlieman

For many lonely stray cats on the streets of Philadelphia, they scrounge and scrape for every meal. They live hard lives in the cold, unfeeling streets. Yet, every once and a while, some kind and loving human scoops them up and takes them home. Their lives of fear on the streets are over. One lucky day for a stray tabby cat, now known as Budweiser, his life changed in a way just like this. His owner had never really been privy to his early life without her

…

One brisk September evening, I was politely strolling around garbage-lined streets to find my next meal. Hopefully some human threw out a pizza crust, or even a can of tuna with some scraps left. Anything to eat at all would be sublime, just something to make my stomach stop growling a harsh tone. I then came upon a beautiful sight. There it was. Like a beacon of hope for my poor cat soul. A chicken wing right on the ground. It beckoned to me like it was just waiting for me. As I took my next several steps cautiously, my hopes of my next meal were crushed. This large, fat creature with a long, gangly tail and sharp, yellowed teeth scurried its way over to me. I took a step back as it snarled in my face.

“What do you think you’re doing here,” barked the Rat.

“Just looking for food,” I said meekly as my eyes darted to the ground.

“Get moving buddy, this is my street, my turf, and my food,”

the Rat’s tone became sharper and I knew if I did anything else, I would find a fight. As scared as I was, my hunger was a much stronger force than fear. As the rat looked on to me, I walked closer to the best meal I have seen in weeks.

“Look, I don’t want to fight you, but I will if I have to,” I told him, “my claws are long, I-I-‘ll scratch you”.

He scoffed at my remark, but before he could clench his jaw back together again, I was already ready and pouncing. I scratched and bit and clawed with all my might until a bloodied mess, formerly known as a rat, hurried off. I hoped that he told all his rat friends how scary I was. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, but I have to keep living. There has to be something else out there for me. Until then, I will roam these cold and unforgiving streets until something or someone else comes for me.

Until next time, love Budweiser

…

Shivering and shaking with chattering teeth was all I could muster to do with myself on a freezing November evening. I longed for the warm embrace of a home, blankets, and consistent meals.

As the days got shorter and the nights got longer, I spent more and more time hiding in shadows observing the people around me. I saw into their homes and all the love these humans shared with each other. I wonder if I’ll ever get that same kind of love.

On this fateful night, it started to rain. The icy droplets hit my fur with such fervor. As I lapped up puddles of water, trying to find a positive in this situation. What a long night that was. I don’t even think I slept. I climbed under a bush and tried my best to stay dry and warm.

It was a tough battle with the natural world, but I made it out alive. Brighter, sunnier days will hopefully be ahead, I just hope to make it out of the winter alive. I just hope I won’t spend it being this wet and soggy. My fur gets too heavy when its wet and I don’t like it. Anyways, this was a hard day for me, but I made it through it. At least I can be proud of myself for something.

Until next time, love Budweiser

…

One sweltering summer day I wanted to explore the city I have found myself in. I spent many days in the heat, walking on sweltering sidewalks and hoping for some sort of respite. I decided to pilgrimage to a new part of the city I have never been to. I see all of these people every day walk down into the earth, down stairs. The stairs have a little archway and name plate in front of them, and it says Southbound and train? I didn’t know what a Septa was either, but I found that out fast.

I trekked down the stairs into a dank, damp, and fluorescently lit cave. People would wait for the underground tube, but I think the humans call that the train. The train is so loud I don’t like it, but I walked right to the platform and patiently waited for my ride.

It was really scary, I can’t lie, there is a big cliff next to the yellow line at the platform. I tried to stay far away from that, I don’t wanna fall off! Anyway, the loud tube came to pick all of us up, and all of us got on. Every time the train stopped, more people would get on and off. I got nervous and I didn’t know when to get off, but City Hall seemed like a fun place to be, so I got off there. I was very careful to not fall into the cliff again when I got off the train, but that was scary too. I walked up all the stairs with the rest of the people that got off.

There are so many big buildings here! I saw so many parks, animals, and people! It was so fun! I overheard a family talking about a fountain nearby, and I was thirsty. I also thought maybe if I followed them long enough, they would let me go home with them!

It was a very long walk to that fountain. The walk was scary too! There were a lot of loud cars and they were driving fast. I had to run so none of them would hit me! I followed this family all the way there. The big lady gave the small person she was holding snacks while they were looking at the fountain. The small person kept crying and being loud, and it made me so sad. I tried to go make it feel better by trying to come and cuddle the small one. The big lady got mad at that though.

“Shoo! Shoo! Go away Cat!” Screeched the lady, clutching the small one in her arm, close to her chest. With her other hand she swiped me away. This made me even more sad as I walked away. I don’t know why they didn’t like me, I just wanted to help and be nice.

I walked through the fountain to cool off, and then I kept walking. I saw a cool building in the distance, before a really long road. I saw a bunch of cool fabrics hung up in the air all down the road as I walked.

At this big building, there were so many steps. They were very hard to walk up. There were so many of them. One after they other, they just keep stacking up. I had no idea why anyone would make a building with this many steps. I am a pretty fast cat, so I ran up all of the stairs. I haven’t been so tired in a very long time. There were so many and I was so tired, but looking at the city after I made it all the way up was amazing. The skyline is so beautiful to see! The views are so amazing. Every giant building looks so tiny from far away! I wonder how small I look from that far away.

I chased a lot of birds while I was walking through the city. It was amazing. This is basically my dream! I wish I could share these birds with other people. Life is getting kind of lonely being all by myself. I sat in the park with the fountain for the rest of the day and watched all the humans live their lives. I wish I could have a family like that. Hey, maybe if I go home and end up back where I was before, someone will find me and I’ll get loved like I want!

I am hopeful for the future to see what could happen in the future. I hope there is a family and a lot of birds in it. As for now, I’ll take that loud, scary tube home again. I think things can only get better for me.

Until next time, Love Budweiser

…

I began tonight, like I would any other night. I spent most of it on foot, looking for a nice, safe, and warm place to stay for the night. Maybe even some food if I can find it. Then I came upon an old friend! Well, I had hoped he would be a friend… it was that pesky rat from before!

But then something happened. He waved at me? His husky, dark voice was now a meek whisper of what it once was.

“Hello again cat” his words echoed with a grave sadness in his voice.

“Rat!” I snapped back,  “for such a mean guy like you, why are you acting so nice now?”

“I’ve been trying to find you, you see, I feel bad for what I did to you. Such a tiny little guy like you didn’t deserve that. I’m a big mean rat man and I’m sorry,” as the words left his little rat mouth he began to cry rat tears out of his rat eyes. I don’t like rats. Why are they so big! And mean! I don’t understand. I try to be nice to everyone. And these rats come along and ruin everything. All of it. Boy howdy do I sure not like those guys. You know what, I haven’t seen any mice though. Are you supposed to see mice in a big city like this? I’m not sure I’m just a cat.

I did not feel bad for this big, sad rat. I lost my dinner to him. That wasn’t cool.

“Okay Mr. Rat man, I’ve heard enough”, I sighed, “I know you’re sorry, it hurt my feelings when you took my food and said all those mean things to me, it really scared me! I accept your apology, but don’t do that again! Especially to other kitties!” As the last words left my mouth, I scurried off in the other direction away from the rat. I hope not to see him again.

Once I slowed down to catch my breath after a very long run away from the worst rat ever, I came upon a beautiful sight. Food! A bunch of chicken wings just for this car. How amazing. I guess I needed that rat to find me, so I could run away, and then find the food.

What a day have I had. Phew, I am hoping for greener pastures in the future. Actually I’m just hoping for love I guess. Hey if that rat can apologize, maybe this means people can change! Someone will want me, maybe I’ll find the fountain lady again.

Until next time, Love Budweiser

…

One night I was taking a nap next to my favorite house. It has a sign that says Montgomery Beer. I think it looks pretty cool. I love this house because it has a big alley next to it. The alley is filled with plants and other greenery. It even has a couple trees! Those are the best. I love to sit under trees in the shade in the summer.

One night I was in my favorite spot, and I heard a bunch of ladies! I was kind of confused and scared at first because I didn’t know what they wanted from me.

They tried to feed me, but I was so overwhelmed that I ran away in fear. They left some food out for me though, and walked away. I thought they had left me forever, but they were just behind a corner where I couldn’t see them.

Slowly but surely, as I ate, they gave me more food. They gave me more and more dry food and I got more comfortable with them. They gave me a can of wet food, and I ate so much of it. It was so nice to have so much food. They were such nice ladies.

One of them picked me up, and the others followed us. Another one of the ladies pet me and fed me more wet food. We walked into a house, and up a flight up stairs. They gave me more food! I was so happy to be in a home with my new family. They were so nice to me.

But then they gave me a bath. I hate the bath. I hate the water. They said I was all dirty, so I needed a bath, but they are the worst. I feel bad, but I did scratch them a lot.

After the horrible bath, they gave me a nice warm towel and I was starting to get all cozy in my new home. Then they gave me my name!

”Well what should we call him?” Said one of the ladies, she was the one who started feeding me first.

“Fat Tire? Like the beer? Since we found him next to the beer store?” Asked another lady.

“Budweiser,” the perfect name for me. It was proclaimed by the one who gave me the bath. I scratched her the most, but now she’s my favorite.

Everyone agreed on Budweiser as the perfect name for me. I think it’s pretty great. I am so happy to finally be with people who love me just as much as I love them. I’m in the warm, lit houses that I used to see when I lived outside without them.

After a long night of eating and exploring my new home, I fell asleep in a cozy bed with my new best friend, the lady who gave me a bath. Her name is Colleen, I think she’s pretty cool. She is pretty cool because she feeds me and takes care of me, but she is pretty nice.

            This was the best day ever!!!

            Until next time, Love Budweiser

…

How Temple University and Philadelphia Freed Me From My Past

If I had never gone to Temple University, I would have never known how big the world really is. Temple has been more than just a stepping stone for my career; it has opened my eyes to a much greater and accepting world. Philadelphia dismantled the uncomfortable truths of my upbringing, identity, and deeply engrained prejudices within my family and community. Philadelphia has opened my eyes to a world I can comfortably question the life I was raised to follow. This is the education I didn’t know I needed.

A Childhood of Confinement

For a large part of my childhood, I attended a Roman Catholic Parish School.

From K-8, the “divinely entrusted” duty of my educators was to assist children in their ability to “reach the fullness of the Christian life.” So, aside from the generic classes; ELA, vocabulary, math, science…thou hath bestowed upon me a plethora of additional Righteous knowledge, which I have no use or interest for, an extreme fear of god’s omnipotence, and a stifled sense of self, expression, curiosity, and
the world. I never understood it, but I had no choice; it was the school my parents placed me in.

Once I figured out what college and university was, I was fascinated. I had never heard of such fancy education before, since neither of my parents went to college. I first heard of Penn State in 5th grade and inquired my brother, a freshman in high school, for information. “Is it a good school? Will you go there? Should I go there? What’s the difference between college and university?” – “Shut up, you don’t have to think about any of that right now, I’m not even worried about that right now.” My first conversation I can recall about higher education. But once my brother applied and was accepted to Temple, and I caught a glimpse of the city, I wanted to go to Temple too. From then on, I became dead set on going to Temple University and being in Philadelphia.

By high school, I was weird, awkward, and angry.

I felt deeply misunderstood, and going home was no better. For my time in high school was spent conforming myself into something “typical.” Initially, it was hard to have friends, because I wouldn’t be able to ask them to hang out at my house. My mom didn’t want people to know we weren’t the “perfect” family she wanted us to
be. My oldest brother was an addict, constantly getting into trouble with the law, and although I knew it wasn’t normal, it was my normal.

But with time I met people who accepted me for who I am and they are friends I still have today.
Today, I live with two of my favorite people that I graduated as class of 2020 together and came to Temple University with as a team. It’s funny, I moved out to go to college, but my family didn’t treat me as such. I was basically expected to spread myself thin, forced to spend weekends at home and go back and forth and back and forth. I had never felt more dysregulated in my life trying to balance adjusting to college and suffering in a cesspool of family drama.

Breaking Points and Breakthroughs

I hated college for my first 3 years, but I absolutely loved being in Philly. I would endlessly adventure around the city and campus my freshman year, but I was stuck trying to navigate a major I didn’t enjoy and had added pressure of family members blabbing their opinions in my ear.

I felt like I was drowning.

All that one family member sees in my pursuit of higher education is an indoctrination of “liberal idiocies.” That
what I am taught is the downfall of America. That white guilt is a load of crap and I should be proud to be white in an “area full of blacks.” Pride? For being white? What of whiteness do I have to be proud of? Historically, technically, I live on stolen land and benefited from the oppression of others; AND you just spat the word “blacks.” Go lick Trump’s boots. If that is our history, I have no pride in this heritage.

Another family member, upon mentioning my interest in a non-white person, “…Would you?” – “What’s wrong with mixed families?” I asked, their response was “I don’t think that’s fair to the child, it should be kept separate.” The irony of this statement is the fact that we have mixed family members. I’ve since learned to smile and keep my mouth shut because you really can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

Finding My Future

Changing my major to Media Studies and Production, I realized what it meant to enjoy what you’re studying. My first favorite course was Intro to Media Analysis with Barry Vacker. I remember sitting in that class every Tuesday and Thursday thinking to myself “holy shit this guy is saying a lot of stuff that I think…” It was an enriching experience.

It is now my fifth year living in Philadelphia and my final at Temple, and I’m tired of being afraid I’ll disappoint my family, of being scared of saying the “wrong” thing. I’m tired of being told to look up to the white man my entire life. I’m tired of feeling guilty for pursuing a life that people don’t understand.

I love Philadelphia. I love that it’s gross, that the subways smell like piss, that the people are sometimes grumpy. I love the history, the opportunity, the culture, and the art. I’ve never been as happy as I am today. I’ve
joined a club which is something I never saw myself doing in the past. Joining We Need To Talk has been incredible. I’ve met so many cool people and have strengthened my relationships with my peers. I never would have known how badly I needed a woman’s space such as We Need To Talk. It feels safe, and I never have to worry about a man speaking over me. I love being able to work together as a team to produce a show for Temple’s television station.

I am proud of my education today and to live in Philly. Even greater, I’ve landed an editing job with a great group of people. And I’m growing every day into a person I’m happy to be.

If I had never moved to Philadelphia to attend Temple University, I believe I would have never fully identified how lost I felt. I would have never had a proper outlet to question everything or a proper source to learn. If I had never changed my major at Temple, I would have never been able to understand the world the way I do now, or have been able to meet the incredible people I now know. I am grateful. Studying media, cultural differences, being surrounded by a diverse group of people, contributing to/being part of beneficial, inclusive conversation- I have gained a greater understanding of myself, the United States, and the world.

In the end, perhaps the greatest lesson I’ve earned is that I used to beg for my family’s love and approval, but now I happily fantasize of the day I provide them nothing but silence. Philadelphia has provided itself as a stepping stone for my future freedom. I’ve learned that love isn’t something conditional, and that true love isn’t from those who see your growth as betrayal. For the first time in my life, I feel comfortable, happy, and every day, I feel more liberated and gained something they can’t take away from me: a self that exists beyond their expectations.

Cheers to Philly.

Amaya Lam

I was born in 2004, fifteen years after my family’s cafe in South Philadelphia initially opened.  My first destination out of the hospital was Cafe Cuong.  My grandparents were holding me in the middle of the cafe and soon enough, the regulars of the cafe that already referred to themselves as my “aunties” took turns holding me. The cafe had become my second home. When I wasn’t with my mom and grandma, I was staying with my dad who was still living above the cafe floor. Being a part of the cafe became a typical part of my routine as a child.

I would come down from the second floor with my backpack on to the cafe floor and wait while my dad made me breakfast to take me to school. The early morning chatter from the regulars filled the room. All of them were Vietnamese and would greet me and say other things in Vietnamese I couldn’t quite understand. They were talking loudly to my grandparents behind the counter about their daily news and commenting on the random tennis game playing on the TV. The loudness would be striking to anyone else that would walk into the cafe, but to me it turned into background noise, something as natural as music playing in the back.

A Beginning

Once they arrived in Philadelphia, they rented a house where they lived and worked various jobs to keep my father and his brothers in school. Eventually, in 1989 after years of hard work, my grandparents bought a property on 8th and Catherine and founded Cafe Cuong, specializing in banh mis and Vietnamese iced coffee for income. Simultaneously, they continued to raise their four sons in the two floors above and tried to assimilate them into American culture. At the time, the cafe was one of the few Vietnamese establishments in the area and started to gather its own customer base and presence.

A Growing Community

9 years after I was born, my little brother was born to my dad and my step-mom. My grandparents and all the customers were so excited to have yet another baby in the building. My uncle who lived on the third floor of the building had his daughter the year before. With a new babies in the house, our floor was now filled with baby toys and next to all the baskets for banh mis that had been washed were baby bottles. 

I was tall enough to reach the cash register at this point so I began to man the register and had fun playing a role in the store. My grandparents thought it was good practice for counting and learning basic maths and I found it fun and the customers found it endearing. I remember a new customer would come in and they saw me behind the counter and laughed as they handed me their money and would always say something along the lines of, “I see they’re starting you off early!”. From being behind the counter so young, I had grown used to seeing new and old faces everyday. Oftentimes someone new, and usually not Vietnamese or some type of Asian, would come in and I would have to act as the main translator to my grandparents. Through these simple interactions, my family, especially my grandparents, had felt more assimilated into American culture through customers. At the same time, I could see how the new customers learned and experienced a new culture from this same interaction and eating at the cafe. 

3 years later, my second little brother was born and I was 12 years old, a full Lunar zodiac cycle older than him. Somehow everything had changed but it still felt the same. My dad and grandfather still got into daily arguments and my dad still made me breakfast sandwiches every morning. Years passed and the regulars would comment on how they almost didn’t recognize me because of how big I had gotten. I never told them how I thought they still looked the same to me. In the 12 years since I was born, the cafe has raised three children who always knew the comfort of their grandparents’ cooking, who from birth already had adoration from dozens of people we were unrelated to, simply because of what the cafe meant to them. 

The cafe acted as a root for all our family, no matter how extended, to have a place in Philadelphia. My grandfather alone has 11 siblings, making it impossible for me to know all my family members. Sometimes someone who I don’t even recognize will come into the cafe and mention they are my cousin and I simply learned to accept that it’s probably true. At family gatherings, my extended family would often refer to my brothers and I as “from the cafe”. We were so intrinsically linked to the cafe others automatically grouped us together, and given time,  I did too. When introducing myself to people, I would say “I’m from the cafe” and they would instantly have a grasp of who I was and the family members I was most connected to. My younger brothers were woven into the cafe in the same way, our identities meshing with the place that brought us all together.

The Future of the Cafe…

Over time, my dad and uncles eventually took over the cafe as my grandparents grew older and slowly entered retirement (though like most older generation Asian people, they have a hard time sitting still and not working, so they still come by and make the house mayo). With this sense of new leadership, the cafe began to adapt more to our current times. My uncle created an Instagram account for Cafe Cuong and soon enough they had accumulated followers. More and more traction was created online. 

No doubt this online presence led to the past year being monumental for the cafe in terms of recognition from the city. The Philadelphia Inquirer released a new annual feature called “The 76”, where they list the most vital restaurants in Philadelphia that year. Cafe Cuong was fortunate enough to make that list and was featured on the Philadelphia Inquirer website. Soon after, 6abc did a TV spot on them in light of the Philadelphia Inquirer. The 6abc filming crew came to the cafe and did short interviews with my family as they saw the work they did there and cut to older photos when the cafe was first founded. 

I know this feature was by no means a breakout or viral story, but it was my family’s story. The feeling of pride I got seeing my family and their hard work professionally recognized was immense. I had always known about what the cafe had meant to the neighborhood and the people in it. It was an integral part of the community and provided a space for people to gather and experience my family’s culture. It was one thing to recognize this myself, but to see various news outlets recognize it felt more official to me. Everything that I had felt throughout my childhood felt validated.

Like any major city, Philadelphia has its prominent ethnic enclaves throughout the city. From Philadelphia’s Chinatown to Italian Market, these communities have given the city diverse character. While not directly in the neighborhood of Little Saigon, Cafe Cuong resides near it and is a part of the Vietnamese immigrant population that has established an identity within Philadelphia. It’s a place for both immigrants to gather and celebrate their local culture and people outside this demographic to enjoy and experience this cultural identity.

To this day, Cafe Cuong largely looks the same as it did when it opened in the late 1980s. Although my grandparents have mostly retired, the cafe still holds their dreams and ideals from when they first came to Philadelphia. It holds a space not only for our own family, but for other Vietnamese immigrants and people in the community as a whole. The same way other Philadelphia buildings and spaces hold historical value and significance, places like my family’s cafe hold this same significance. It’s part of the city’s history, but also the history of a family and people’s personal stories. Their hard work and sacrifices are responsible for much of the richness of culture in Philadelphia. The things that make Philadelphia loveable to both locals and visitors, the restaurants, food and togetherness, are able to be found through immigrants, namely a place like Cafe Cuong. 

I don’t consider anyone who hasn’t worked a double on a national holiday at a restaurant a real person. I know I sound pretentious, but it’s something I enjoy to live by. I’m convinced that having the population work just two weekend shifts at a busy restaurant would make the world spin more smoothly. Working in the service industry is like losing your virginity; your life as you know it will never be the same again. The person I was before going into customer service is NOT the person I am now. I’ve seen some things over the years– things I shouldn’t have seen. Things that I’ll never forget.  I’m withered. I’m jaded. But I’m also more empathetic. Caring. Serving the general public teaches you about the world around you, and about yourself. In just three years, I’ve worked at three different jobs in Philadelphia, earning me a reputation as a ‘job hopper’ among my friends. Each job—Urban Outfitters, Liberty Point, and Alice Pizza—has provided a unique lens into the struggles of working in the service industry in a big city, from endless weekend shifts during Phillies and Eagles games to the dehumanization of workers by both customers and managers. Through it all, I’ve learned how to stand up for myself, balance school and work, and navigate the complex social dynamic of Philadelphia.  

I needed an easy job. Something to keep me afloat that didn’t take much brain or body power. I had never worked in retail before, But I liked the idea of working at Urban Outfitters. They were hiring extra workers for the holiday season, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity.  Restaurants are never hiring at this point in the year, nor are they busy, so I decided to try something new. After all, I thought it would be cool to tell people I worked there.  

Prior to working at Urban, I previously thought that people my age in the workplace had left middle school cliques far behind us– Imagine my surprise. Have you ever had a conversation with someone, and you’re talking about something, and as you’re looking at their face, you can just tell without a doubt that they don’t care (they wouldn’t care if your house exploded with your family inside), that they’re just waiting for their turn to speak? I tried to talk to people out of boredom, but I wasn’t interested in befriending anyone. I think people thought I wanted to be their best friend just because I showed interest in their uninspiring lives. Some of them attend Temple, and when I saw them on campus, they would always conveniently go on their phone right when we passed. This always bothered me. Sure, we aren’t friends, we never will be, but you see me on a weekly basis. You know my name, you know my face, but you can’t say hi? Wave? Smile? NOD? I strongly disliked how the people I worked with lacked social skills. I understood the employees at Urban Outfitters don’t consider you important unless you have social status amongst the other workers. This did come as a shock to me, considering that during my interview the hiring manager said, “We’re like a family here!” I can’t think of a worse thing to hear while describing a work environment; because somehow, the workspaces where everyone is “family”, are always the most ingenuine.  

Hearing “excuse me” from a customer gave me the same body reaction you get when you have a dream you’re falling, and you jolt awake right when your face hits the pavement. I experienced real fight or flight situations: When a customer asked me if we had something in the back, would I actually check? Or would I pretend to check, and then say we didn’t have it? I made $11.11 an hour. I wanted an easy job, and I got it at the cost of my own wallet. I’m not afraid to admit that I wasn’t paid enough to care. This place was like a playground, crawling with 12-year-old girls buying Go for Gold tops, and grown men who still struggle to dress in a way that suits them. I decided two weeks into my new position that it would be the first and last retail job I would ever have.  

Closing usually meant three to five people cleaning up, but one night, it was just me and a manager. I didn’t realize I was the only associate closing. After cleaning, I went upstairs—no one was there. No one was anywhere. For 40 minutes, I wandered, refolding already perfect displays, convinced everyone had left me behind. The store was silent, the lights off. I knocked on the manager’s office—locked, no response. An hour passed. I had two options: leave (without a key) or wait. I imagined the store being ransacked by morning, me to blame. I paced, checked the fitting rooms, sat in the break room, heart pounding. Who could I even call? Then I spotted the branch manager’s number on the bulletin board. “Hi, Joe. This is weird, but I think everyone left me in the store.” 

I wasn’t alone. My manager was locked in the office the whole time. Joe sent another manager to let me out. 

“Why did you think I left you?” she asked. 

Maybe because I hadn’t seen another soul for 90 minutes? I explained how closing was never a one-person job, how managers didn’t usually lock themselves away and leave an $11.11-per-hour employee to shut down a three-story store. 

They looked at me like I’d just announced, “The Earth is flat!” We laughed it off, but I was sure they thought I was an idiot and desperately wanted to never see any of them ever again.  

I learned a lot of things during my time spent at Urban Outfitters: firstly, that I hate working in retail. Secondly, the opinions people have of you aren’t true, and you shouldn’t dwell on them. Sometimes, I just don’t fit in certain spaces. And I am perfectly okay with that! Feeling out of place is an amazing thing. It pushed me to find another job that I enjoy being at. In April 2024, I put in my two weeks and was freed from the shackles of the retail industry. 

This was the first summer that I would spend away from home. Originally from New Jersey, my summers were always spent at the shore—including my jobs. I worked at a Bar and Restaurant on the boardwalk, a job I still hold to my heart dearly. Being in the city, I knew I wouldn’t be happy at a job where I’m kept out of the sun. That’s how I ended up applying for a position at Liberty Point— an entirely outdoor wooden planked space with three bars, a stage for live music, and a second level where guests can overlook the Delaware river. While getting the tour at my interview I was instantly reminded of the boardwalk at home and knew that the summer I wanted relied on me having this job.

I started off as a host: the face of the establishment. Being a host is fun, because you can control what servers get sat and when. Many factors separate hosting at Liberty and hosting at other restaurants: the space. Being outdoors with many different seating options, people loved to get picky: they didn’t want to sit in the sun, they needed to sit somewhere with a view of the water, they needed to sit “in the coldest place possible while still being outside.” I don’t think that it will come as a surprise that the people with the most requests were also people who didn’t have a reservation. “You need to have a reservation?” People would say to me, at 7pm on a Saturday summer night. Being the host, it was hard for me to find ways to politely say “No” at first. When people weren’t attempting to go past the stand and seat themselves, they were coming up to me and pointing out tables, asking to sit there. When I told them no, they took this as an invitation to bargain: “This is my first time here”, or “Why can’t I sit there? There’s no one sitting there. (a reservation was arriving in 30 minutes)”, or “can’t you move the reservations around?” I quickly learned that customers could smell vulnerability and would whittle me down until I gave them the table they wanted. People look at me and see a young girl. Which is true, but they also think that “young girl” equals easily manipulated. That might have applied to me once, but it doesn’t anymore. This job made sure of that.  

One morning, hungover and baking in the sun, I watched a woman walk in—crudely dressed, with a Brazilian butt lift so big you could see it from the front. Not important, of course. She asked to sit at a picnic table overlooking the river. “I’m sorry, but without a reservation, the picnic tables are for parties of four and up,” I explained. Only one was open, and the next reservation was in 30 minutes. She wasn’t listening, just waiting for her turn to talk. “But that one’s open—why can’t I sit there?” I repeated myself. She looked back at the tables, then at me, and I knew what was coming before she said it.“You’re not letting me sit there because you’re racist!” There it was. My heart rate spiked so high my Apple Watch probably thought I was finishing a marathon. But then I remembered—I’m just the host. This isn’t my problem. I offered to grab my manager, practically skipping to the office. When I explained, my manager laughed and followed me back. The woman launched into her speech again.  

“Isabel is black. She can’t be racist towards you,” My manager started. I tried not to smile as she explained to her the same thing I previously said. This did not blow over well. She demanded another manager. Conveniently, our other Black manager walked by. Cue the sob story again. She came up to us and asked what was going on. And then—horror. My manager walked her to the picnic table. With a menu. Then talked to her for ten minutes. Then sent over a free drink. My heart rate went back up as she took selfies, alone at a table meant for four. On her way out, she even hugged my manager. Of course, the reservation never showed, so now she thought I was a liar. 

I learned something through this interaction—first, that complaining and accusing people of being racist would get me an exclusive table and a free drink combo deal. Additionally I realized that sometimes your manager won’t have your best interest at heart. Within the manager/employee relationship there’s always a thick, slimy layer that separates their manager persona from their real identity. They hide it from you, using it as a shield to stay scary and manager-like. When a customer is wrong, they’re wrong, but that doesn’t mean that they’re going to turn down business just because one of the hosts is angry. From a business perspective, I completely understand, and I’m not hurt over it. It’s just how the world spins, and I’m constantly learning how to spin with it.  

I started serving tables in July– I was so excited to bury my host life six feet under. I had never been a waitress before, and this was the perfect restaurant to start at. I transitioned very easily and had a lot of fun doing it. Serving is a blast because you can bounce around to all the different tables in your section and talk to your guests about their lives, and then you can run away from them and talk to your coworkers in the server station. I met so many charming people from so many places: A couple who lives in Rittenhouse Square with their seven-year-old daughter. Old friends from New Mexico, staying in Philadelphia for a business trip. A couple recently engaged and planning to start a business. Many people I met inspired me with their conversation and truly kept me going while I was working those dreadfully long days. Sure, there was the occasional asshole, which I was used to. However I would never get used to the joy of experiencing kindness from a stranger. I got lucky to have amazing coworkers as well. The stress of serving the general public allowed me to get close with many whom I still call close friends.  

A lot of the things they say about serving are true. I would wake up from nightmares in which I was at the restaurant, getting sat hundreds of tables within ten minutes. My legs are often melted into the floorboards, or I can’t remember how to use them, or when I can walk, I’m moving at the speed of a snail. I’m always looking down at my feet, which don’t work, and then up at the tables, who are filled with angry people staring at me, ready to post a bad review with my name and description.

Work thoughts were always infiltrating my brain, about how I forgot to grab table 27 that extra lemon slice. Or how I put ice in table 44’s drink when they specifically told me not to. I find it difficult finding a healthy balance between work and life; it’s weird to turn off your customer service layer when your entire job is to serve others. I get lost in these jobs, thinking that I have to constantly give my all into everything I do. I’m not going to be a server when I grow up, and I’m most definitely not going to be a host. I’m not going to work in the food industry at all. These jobs are temporary, and I come first. Not my customers, not my manager, not my coworkers, but myself. No one’s going to help me; it’s up to me to find ways to split my devotion into the different parts of my life.  

Liberty Point is a seasonal restaurant and closed at the end of October. I’m looking forward to meeting new people when it reopens and making scratch while being under the sun. This past summer I learned how working in a positive environment makes all the difference. Being able to enjoy the people and environment you’re working in helps the work consume your life less. Although the physical and mental demand of the server industry is extremely demanding, having a positive mindset and an understanding of my position on the totem pole kept me sane, and taught me crucial things I will carry with me in life.  

After Liberty closed, I lasted a month until I wanted a job again. As the weather got colder, money slipped through my wallet like warmth through an open window. I didn’t want to serve—I knew it would be too much to juggle with school. Retail never even popped into my brain again. So there I was, on Indeed scrolling through listings. I was applying to anything and everything, knowing I would get a response eventually. I got some responses, but only from the ones I applied to while I was in a fugue state. I took to the next place people use to find jobs: Craigslist! Between all the creepy Missed Connections, I knew Craigslist would have some options worth considering. I emailed my resume to a couple, writing, “I saw your listing on Craigslist and think I’m a perfect candidate for the role!…”  mentally punching myself, hardly believing I resorted to this.

I started messaging Alice Pizza. From the ages of 16 to 18, I worked behind the counter at a pizza parlor back home, so this kind of work was familiar to me, and I knew I would be able to do it well. When I was contacted for an interview, I was excited, because I knew that this meant I got the job. I was also upset, because I knew that this meant that I got the job.

I showed up for my first day, ready to meet my new coworkers and managers, hoping that we would all get along. The first day is always a whirlwind of word vomit about everything you’re expected to do. I got this job because I thought it was going to be a laid-back position, serving pizza behind the counter and running the register. To my surprise, it was anything but laid back. There were endless amounts of Italian desserts I had to learn the names and pronunciations of. There were gelato flavors, different kinds of pizza, and then the entire rest of the menu. They serve their pizza by weight, so I literally had to wield a giant knife and cut slices according to the customer’s preference. You can imagine how much I enjoyed this.

When closing, we were expected to clean the counter, clean the shelves, restock the shelves, clean the gelato station, restock the gelato, restock the desserts, clean the dessert station, the panino station, the fountain soda dispenser, restocked the fridge with drinks, clean the ovens, sweep, mop, and take out the trash. It was the worst job given to me at the worst time. I didn’t want to sweep, mop, and take out the trash. I didn’t want to cut pizza in an ugly hat and apron. The place echoed the pizza parlor of my teen years in the most achingly painful way. I was walking right into the pizza oven again—being controlled by my managers and crushed by customers. 

Alice is on 15th and Locust, a convenient place to catch all the excitement that happens after the Eagles win. I worked a double every Sunday, so I was always met with the pre-rush and then the post-game rush. Those were dark days—ones I don’t visit often, even in memory. The worst day of my life took place on January 26, 2025, when the Eagles won the NFC Championship. It was like a battlefield—my vision blurry, serving endless green enemies who were so drunk they couldn’t understand the concept of pizza being sold by the pound. They thought that just because their Birds won, the world owed them everything—and I was the one who had to deliver it. I’ve worked Fourth of July’s. I’ve worked Memorial Day weekends. I’ve worked St. Patrick’s Day’s–nothing compared to this. Chaos ensued outside just as much as it did inside. There were people climbing poles and big fights breaking out, and inside, customers yelling a million orders at me. I pinballed between the pizza, gelato, and dessert stations, my feet and my legs begging me to stop. 

The moment the Eagles won the night of January 26, 2025, I texted my boss to ask for Super Bowl Sunday off. To request days off, you had to ask two weeks in advance, which it was. I thought about the two possible outcomes: work a double on the day of the Super Bowl, which would cause a mental and physical destruction so miserable that it’s difficult to put into written words—or, have fun with my friends watching the Eagles play in the Super Bowl. I wanted the latter. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t bring myself to think about the other option. I anxiously waited for my manager to answer.  

Unfortunately, there’s a rule that you can’t take off the day of the Super Bowl. I expected this, but it was worth a shot. I decided that there was nothing in this world that would make me consider working a double on Superbowl Sunday. Not when the Eagles are playing the Chiefs, and when I live in Philadelphia as a college student. Memories over money. I texted all of my coworkers that were off that day. “Hiiiiiii Elena how are you? I was wondering if you could do me a HUGE favor. I really need off for Superbowl Sunday and am desperately trying to find someone to cover it. I will owe you forever. Please LMK.” Everyone said no. Why would they say yes?

I was unraveling—losing sleep and sanity that I would be working the worst day of the year and experience the greatest amount of FOMO in my life. Quitting became immensely desirable. Schoolwork was piling up and my stress magnified. I went to bed thinking about my shift the next day instead of my paper that I needed to work on. I woke up thinking about my coworkers and managers hating me instead of the things I needed to do that day. Alice quickly clouded my brain with things that were unimportant in the grand scheme. I went in for my final shift that Thursday, knowing that I had to tell my manager that I wouldn’t be working Super Bowl Sunday. Why did I feel like I was telling him that he had two weeks left to live?  

Jobs do this thing to you where they manipulate you into thinking that the world will end without you working there. I hadn’t been there for long; I wasn’t that important to them. My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw my manager. My feet felt like they were being weighed down by anchors as I approached him. His little dog that he always brought in started licking my ankles, making the situation worse. My life flashed before my eyes as I said the words. I was honest: I didn’t want to lie about a dead grandmother or having Covid. I at least owed them the truth, since I was doing something that felt so horrible. “Listen, I can’t come in Super Bowl Sunday. I asked two weeks in advance, and I know that it’s not allowed, but no one is able to cover my shift…” He was so pissed off. He was staring at me with this wicked look and it felt like I could read his mind, his eyes screaming every word he was calling me in his head. I continued. “This is a terrible thing to do, and I don’t want to do this… but I wanted to let you know in person.”  

“You know we don’t allow time-off requests for Super Bowl Sunday. You knew that when you asked, and you knew it when you didn’t get coverage. …So you’re not coming?” 

My face was so hot it felt like wax, dripping off my skull onto the tiled floor. I held my silence, answering his question. He held his gaze, not blinking.  

“Don’t come back after today.”  

This moment is something I’ll never forget. I was terribly ashamed—was I really doing this? Quitting a job to have fun with my friends? I nodded then practically ran to the staff room to put on my hat and apron. I felt sick during the entire shift. As I clocked out and stepped into the cold night, I felt immensely ill, but I was on a strange high. Sure, I quit my job to watch the Superbowl, but I also quit my job to choose myself. I would never forgive myself If I made myself work a double while the Eagles won the Superbowl. This establishment, these people, did not care about me, and I didn’t need the money. What was left that would convince me to stay? I wondered why I make myself care so deeply about places that can replace me so easily. I let this job take a serious toll on my mental health and was fine with it as long as I was keeping my manager happy. Staying late, scrubbing the surfaces like my life depended on it, coming back from break earlier, treating the restaurant like my home. I let it quickly spin out of control so that my coworkers and managers would like me, but why? My heart made me feel like shit. But my brain knew that I wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last person to do this to them. This made me feel slightly better. I felt amazing when I watched the Eagles win the Super Bowl though, and when I was swimming in a crowd of green on Broad Street after; and I never regretted it for a second.

I left and never looked back, and I’ll also never go back to that corner. I’ve since taken a step back from the restaurant industry and am working in a student worker position where I create instructional videos to support Temple University students studying early childhood education. This is my first job where I’m not on my feet, catering to people. Every job has a purpose, and can bring meaning into this world, but when I’m creating these videos that help teachers help students help children, I feel like I’m really doing something powerful and worthwhile.

I undoubtedly brought every lesson I’ve learned from working my previous jobs, and it’s interesting how I use my experiences in new ways in this current position. My people skills help me communicate with people and children. I’m equipped to work under pressure and problem solve when everything that can go wrong, goes wrong. All of these experiences, all of these people, places, tables, coworkers, have given me so many things that make me into the person that I am today, and I am so incredibly grateful for the good, the bad, and the ugly. I take all of these little bits and pieces and view them as little building blocks in my personality. I don’t know who I would be if I never got stranded in Urban Outfitters. Or if I never got accused of being racist. Or if I never stood for 12 hours serving pizza to drunk Eagles fans. I’ve realized through these jobs that in this city, you must stand your ground to keep your sanity when it comes to people. I also learned that people are intricate, layered beings—each carrying their own histories, desires, and contradictions. I’ve come to see them as threads in a vast, tangled tapestry, weaving together the dense fabric of Philadelphia.  

Walking up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, numerous people can be seen visiting the beautiful view of City Hall that was shown in the first Rocky movie. Unfortunately, a lot of them don’t venture past the steps, choosing to skip the rest of the museum altogether. Most people even refer to the area as the Rocky Steps instead of the Philadelphia Museum of Art steps. Although many think of the museum as just a tourist attraction and a movie location, it is much more than that. The Philadelphia Museum of Art takes notable action to make art more accessible to the public and grow people’s appreciation for it.

Museum History

The Philadelphia Museum of Art is one of the nation’s finest, holding over 200,000 pieces reflecting the city and world’s art. It established its Department of Urban Outreach in 1970, with the goals of reaching new audiences and bringing art into Philadelphia’s neighborhoods. Throughout years of new programs and initiatives, the Philadelphia Museum of Art has stayed grounded in its “belief that the arts can positively transform society.” Read more about PMA’s history here.

Community Outreach

PMA has partnered with many Philadelphia organizations to host art events outside of the museum. One example is PMA’s Inside Out Program, which brought high-quality reproductions of the museum’s works to outdoor spaces and communities across the Philadelphia. By inviting communities to experience the artwork, PMA gave artistic opportunities to people who possibly wouldn’t have been able to view the works at the museum, or wouldn’t have had any previous interest in visiting the museum.

Artist Memberships

The Philadelphia Museum of Art offers discounted membership programs to artists who work in mediums shown in the museum’s collection. Artists create the work that make museums such special places, and PMA strives to make itself more accessible to them.

Friday Nights

Admission is also cheaper on PMA’s Friday Night Lounge nights, when the museum stays open until 8:30 and hosts Philadelphia musicians, DJs, and performers. By lowering admission prices and transforming the museum into a place for celebration, PMA invites a new audience of people not interested in the typical art museum experience. The Friday Night celebrations are a great way to get more people in the doors and interested in art.

Kids Programs

Delivering accessibility across all ages, PMA’s Art Kids Program welcomes families to bring their children in for a more interactive museum experience. The Art Kids program offers art classes where they can take guided tours through the galleries and participate in hands-on projects. With this art workshop, PMA makes an artistic experience specifically curated for children. It gives a different age range the opportunity to interact with art in a way that best suits them.

Partnering with Schools

Beyond its own classes, PMA has partnered Philadelphia schools, aiming towards getting art into the hands and minds of the youth. Partnering with the Friends Select School, PMA has run a program that involves students visiting the museum several times throughout the year to study art in the context of the time periods they are studying in the classroom. This immersive form of education can facilitate a deeper understanding of art’s value, and grow the students’ appreciation for it. In addition to partnerships with specific schools, PMA often offers free bussing and guided tours to a wider range of schools.

Highlighting Diverse Perspectives

This past winter, PMA took the initiative to provide those benefits for students to visit the exhibition: The Time is Always Now: Artists Reframe the Black Figure. This exhibition is a great example of PMA highlighting the voices of underrepresented groups. The mix of works brought from London’s National Portrait Gallery and works by Philadelphia artists, aimed to use painting, drawing, and sculpture to display the nuance and richness of Black contemporary life. Highlighting the accomplishments of diverse groups is important because it can empower and inspire the people of those groups who don’t know about the artistic success of people just like them.

Representing Philly Art

While it shows art from diverse groups and perspectives, PMA doesn’t forget to emphasize Philadelphia’s artistic identity. It has a section consisting of all sorts of works made in Philadelphia, ranging from furniture to paintings to silverwork. While many of the world’s most well-known art museums focus on globally recognized art, PMA does a great job of accentuating the art of its own area, surely inspiring Philadelphia’s future artists to uphold the city’s creative legacy.

While the Philadelphia Museum of art is a great place to view art, it also works hard to make art more accessible to the people of Philadelphia. Through all of its initiatives and programs, PMA shows that it cares about making opportunities for people to get involved with art. It stays true to its Department of Urban Outreach’s goals and cultivates a community that can truly appreciate the arts.

Sources

• Our History. Philadelphia Museum of Art, https://philamuseum.org/about/our-history
• Community Programs and Urban Outreach Records. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Library and Archives, https://pmalibrary.libraryhost.com/repositories/3/resources/277
• Community Engagement. Philadelphia Museum of Art, https://philamuseum.org/learn/community-engagement#efforts
• (2017, May 10). Popular Outdoor Art Program, Inside Out, Returns This Summer. Philadelphia Museum of Art, https://press.philamuseum.org/popular-outdoor-art-program-inside-out-returns-to-the-philadelphia-region-this-summer/
• Nagle, A. (2016, February 25). PMA introduces cheaper memberships for working artists. Philly Voice, https://www.phillyvoice.com/pma-introduces-cheaper-memberships-working-artists/
• Long-standing PMA Partnership Empowers Students to Study Art More Deeply. Friends Select, https://www.friends-select.org/long-standing-pma-partnership-empowers-students-to-study-art-more-deeply
• The Time Is Always Now: Artists Reframe the Black Figure. Philadelphia Museum of Art, https://philamuseum.org/calendar/exhibition/the-time-is-always-now

The night the Philadelphia Eagles won Super Bowl LIX, I drunkenly stormed to City Hall with a crew that, in my condition, felt like the size of the team’s entire roster. Fireworks erupted, music played, and somehow everyone in Gotham was best friends. When I made it back to the comfort of my friend’s apartment at the end of the night, I sobbed for over an hour. As I kept sappily repeating, “We won the Super Bowl,” I realized my happy tears were also tears of belonging. WE won the Super Bowl. I had forgotten about all the obstacles and tragedies I experienced in the past few years alone that made my life a constant struggle of determining where “home” is. Home was always right here. I’ve always belonged in Philadelphia, it just took fleeing to California. I’ve always belonged in Philadelphia, it just took missing the Eagles. I’ve always belonged in Philadelphia, it just took two people to die for me to figure it out.

While I was a child growing into an angsty teenager, I desired to live somewhere far far away from the unimportant suburb outside of Philly that I lived in for my entire life. I always craved the independence and freedom of starting somewhere new. When I reached my junior year of high school, I decided I wanted to go to college in California and fully move my life there after graduation. I wanted to study film, I loved the beach, and I craved to call another place home. But as my high school experience continued, I had less of a drive to find another home. My friendships grew inseparable, as I finally felt understood by a group of people. Genuinely understood. Even though I fantasized about it for most of my life, the idea of leaving suddenly became terrifying. I grew up thinking that I didn’t need anybody, and on top of that, nobody needed me. I guess it just took the right people paired with my own emotional growth to figure out that was not true. It was too late, though. I already committed to California State University, Long Beach by the beginning of senior year, and summer was rapidly approaching. I soaked up every possible memory of the people I loved that summer. And I was horrified that I actually started falling in love with a boy.

I met Eddie when we were in elementary school. We grew up together, never once considering that our future selves could be remotely attracted to each other. The universe is funny like that sometimes. But after we graduated, we gravitated even closer together. I feared my feelings for him because on top of my friends and family, I couldn’t let another person pull my heart away from my younger self’s ambitions and dreams of independence. And yet, both unfortunately and fortunately, I was truly in love for the first time in my life. I shocked myself with a decision I never thought I would make. Getting a boyfriend before college? That’s the one thing virtually everyone tells you not to do. Whoops.

The day before I left for California didn’t even feel real. It was finally hitting me that I was actually leaving, but I couldn’t accept it. I had Eddie over that night and clung to him for dear life because if he left, then it would all be finally happening. He stayed at my house till 2:30 am when I had to leave for my flight at 3:30 am. I cried in the airport before I left, and I cried in the car after I landed. And as soon as I found my new “home,” COVID-19 restrictions placed me in isolation.

I never felt more alone in my life, staring at four blank walls in a place where nothing and no one was familiar. I cursed out my younger self in that room. Why would I ever want this loneliness for myself? I also grappled with the guilt. How privileged was I that I could be in the dream world of LA County yet be so miserable? I immediately knew I didn’t belong there. I needed to get home, I just didn’t know how or when yet. Could I make it the year? Hell, could I make it a semester?  

Eventually, I was freed from my downward spiral and made friends. I had to, or else the loneliness would eat me alive. I still felt numb and disconnected all the time even though I was spending almost every waking second with other people. I was known as the East Coast, Philly girl. My Californian compadres referred to me as an alpha personality, which was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I was like a unique Pokémon to them. I wasn’t used to feeling so different, so special. This made my guilt grow. I knew that as much as I valued the new relationships blossoming, I could never call them or this place home. Philadelphia occupied the majority of my brain. I made my public speaking class listen to a ten minute speech about the Eagles and Super Bowl LII, I taught my friends Philly slang, and I mentioned my loved ones back on the East Coast at an insufferable frequency.

I was fortunate enough to return to my “unimportant suburb” for both Thanksgiving and winter break. My friends, my family, and Eddie all waited for me in my basement. I felt genuinely content for the first time in months, my anxieties rapidly lowering. Yet, a discovery loomed over this break. Something was wrong, and everyone knew but me. My dear brother casually mentioned my aunt’s diagnosis shortly before Thanksgiving. What about Aunt Tina? What diagnosis? What was I missing while I was 2,713 miles away? When I confronted my mom, I could see her grow smaller. She stated how much she didn’t want me to worry and how much she knew I was already struggling. But it was too late. Aunt Tina had cancer, and she was dying each and every day while I wasn’t there. 

The short time between Thanksgiving and winter break felt like an eternity. My feelings of disconnection snowballed into an avalanche. Aunt Tina was so sick by the time I returned that everyone thought it was best if I just didn’t see her. She was no longer the woman I knew. I was numb, preparing for the inevitable. Towards the end of my break that felt more like a waiting room, Aunt Tina passed away. As much as the sadness weighed down on everyone, I could tell my mom felt a sense of relief somewhat. No more suffering, no more paranoia, and no more late nights in hospital rooms. I still felt empty, completely separate from the situation. As much as I was close to her, I couldn’t even pinpoint the last time I saw her before her death. It’s like to me, she didn’t die, she just vanished out of existence with nothing left behind besides a house full of belongings and a grieving family. I went through her things, making sure to take her Eagles t-shirt with me before I returned to California.

I took the steps to transfer to Temple as soon as my spring semester started, my essay practically begging the university to save me from the mental hell I was in while away from home. I got accepted, and I secured an off-campus apartment during spring break with two of my childhood friends. I made sure everything was in order, both in California and in Philadelphia. Relief cleansed my soul on my return home. Excitement overcame me as the idea of living with the people I love in a place that I learned to love became a reality. 

Once I moved into my first apartment, I felt like I had everything figured out. I was thriving, my romantic relationship was thriving, and my friendships were thriving. I was secure in my routine. Eddie would come every Tuesday to hang out and make my roommates and I dinner. I was walking my foster dog, going to the gym, excelling in my academics, and cultivating my passion for the film industry. At the ripe age of 20, I felt like I had a clear path of where my life was going. I was naive to think the universe would let me off that easily.

After my first year at Temple, I entered the summer optimistically. I knew so many more invaluable memories were to come now that I was in a place where I knew I belonged. I was confident that I wouldn’t have to question that comfortability again. But then Eddie went to Italy. He’d been planning this trip for so long, going to visit one of his friends and learn more about making pasta. He was Italian to the core. I think part of him felt like he belonged there. He even told me how much he would love to take me there one day.

But he can’t.

Eddie passed away only a few days before he was supposed to fly back home.  It’s crazy how fragile life is, how easily a simple accident can end everything. I was hit with the realization that my 20-year-old self didn’t have it all figured out. I was so scared that I cursed everything when I returned from California. Was I in the right place? Was returning home a mistake? It felt like I never stopped crying that entire summer. I actually saw my dad cry. The only other time he ever let his tears slip out in front of me was at his father’s funeral. He, just like everyone around me, begged the universe for any way to take my pain away. As much as I was devastated, I wasn’t alone. 

Eddie’s friends, family, and I all set off lanterns at our old middle school for him. We set lanterns on fire accidentally, struggled with our lighters, and told little jokes along the way to cheer each other up. We weren’t perfect, but damn, those moments were perfect for me. We also had a celebration of life for him at a local park. We painted rocks, listened to his favorite songs, and spoke words of grief and love. Even though I was grieving hard, it finally felt like I was doing grief right. And as much as the past few years (and even the past few months) had made me question where I belonged, I finally knew that I belonged here. There was no mistake. Philadelphia is where my entire heart lies, and my friends and family are the arteries pumping me to life. 

Throughout my junior and senior years, I’ve grown increasingly secure in my sense of belonging. The distance of California gave me more independence, but it also taught me to trust that gut feeling of contentment. Combined with the deaths I experienced, this time of my life taught me that I valued my loved ones too much to live far away from them. Even though multiple tragedies occurred throughout my college career, even more love has come into my life afterward. I will never regret a single second of these years because experiencing long distance, love, and loss taught me more about life than my little high school self applying to colleges could have ever imagined.

After all of these hardships, I’ve gained friends like the Eagles gained valuable players. I know I belong in the city of Philadelphia because I love the people of Philadelphia. I know I belong because it just feels right. This sense of belonging is what makes a place home. Philly has that deep sense of community I’ve always craved, and I know many other Philadelphians feel it too. And when I try to explain to my Californian compadres why I remain here, I just tell them it’s a Philly thing.

I never expected a flag football game to have such a big impact on my life, but it did. It started when I became friends with some guys who play. They knew I used to take photos in high school and had asked me to come to a few games to take pictures. That game made me rediscover my passion for photography and changed the plan I had set for my future. 

When I was in high school, my best friend and I planned to attend Bloomsburg University. We took a tour, got our acceptance letters, and decided we would be roommates. As the summer started to end and freshman year crept closer, I had an overwhelming feeling of anxiety. Not the panic attack anxiety but the kind where to start to question everything. Freshman year of college is full of new firsts: first time living away from home, first day of college classes, first college party, so many firsts to be excited about. But for me, the feeling of excitement didn’t exist. I wasn’t ready. So, I turned down Bloomsburg and enrolled at Bucks County Community College while working full-time at an art company. 

While I was at Bucks, I was told to pursue an art degree, but I had already taken most of the courses in high school for free, so I chose Business. My mom wasn’t thrilled but was still supportive, and I wasn’t fully invested in college anyway. I continued with the college path because that’s what’s expected of everyone at my age. Community college felt more like an extension of high school. A professor told me about Bucks’s Dual Enrollment program, which guarantees acceptance into select colleges with all credits being transferable. I signed with Temple University to stay close to home. I decided to quit my job because I knew I wanted more for myself. 

The spring after I graduated from Bucks, I started at Temple University’s Fox School of Business. A few weeks passed, and I hated it. It was nothing like I had expected. I struggled in my classes and felt alone. Not living on campus made it difficult to connect with other students. I felt that I had missed out on something. Everyone around me knew people, and I was the new kid. Then the flag football game happened at home and everything changed. I began looking at Klein’s Media programs and decided to go to Klein Fest. The moment I walked into Klein I knew I had to switch. I was surrounded by people who shared the same passions. That week I submitted to transfer to Klein. I told my mom I was switching, and she was very excited. I started at Klein that fall. 

My first semester at Klein was different. I felt different. I took 5 classes, joined WHIP Sports Radio as a sports photographer, and later joined The Temple News. I finally had the feeling that everyone talks about, this is what college is supposed to feel like. I found the place where I fit in and finally felt like I belonged somewhere. 

Looking back at my journey, I realize my path wasn’t straightforward, but every decision I made led me to where I am now. I grew and learned so much from my experiences and decisions. It’s okay to feel lost, change direction, and take time figuring things out. I learned that the path isn’t the same for everyone. Pursuing photography and media studies and production made me excited for my future. I now understand that there is no set path to finding your place, following what makes you happy and excited will lead you to your place.