Disorienting

Between two or more worlds

It’s a long drive to work.

I leave West Philly, drive through the dangerous main drag of Darby and Upper Darby, pray that no one walks in front of my car or hits me, and eventually, past Wawas and Dunkin Donuts end up in the suburbs.

Everything is different there.

My students are sweet, funny, smart, some quite brilliant. They come from successful families who have worked incredibly hard to get to this country and make a good living. “We moved here for a better life,” said one of my kids. She’s one of my favorites. Most of my students speak at least two languages, some up to four or even more.

I love teaching these kids. It’s made me realize that the problem isn’t teaching, it’s attempting to teach in a situation where teaching is impossible. I may have to go back to it soon, but having had a glimpse of the Promised Land, I do not plan to spend any more time in Egypt than necessary.

I come home in terrible traffic and I’m wiped out. It’s hard to do much of anything. Being back in West Philly makes me exhausted. The dysfunction of the place seems to drain the life out of me. Yet there are so many amazing things about the neighborhood.

I have met a few truly fascinating people, and made a few new friends. People seem to materialize as though out of a dream. It is fairly easy to make friends here as the culture is friendly to just starting conversations. I will miss that, I think, but as the days go on I realize that I can not stay here much longer.

The month when my car was broken into and my best friend got hit by a car in broad daylight was full of contrasts with the nice lunches, well-mannered kids and efficient staff of my workplace. My glimpses of the successful suburban life have made clear three pertinent ideas:

1. I love teaching kids who are teachable.

2. I am able to feel safe in a place where I am actually, physically safe.

3. I’m rapidly losing the ability to put up with urban dysfunction.

Over the last few weeks my landlords have had workers fixing our roof. Remember the two times my ceiling fell down? The problem was never really fixed. They literally put a tarp up there. I found out that the third floor neighbor’s ceiling had been leaking for months and the landlords hadn’t fixed it.

During the roofing project, we were told to avoid the street where my door is. Everyone else enters through a door on the other side of the house but I have my own entrance. Well, I couldn’t avoid my own door! So I’ve been yelling, “Please don’t throw anything at me!” as I walk into my own home for weeks. The roofers covered the sidewalk with debris, including my steps. Our once-beautiful garden now looks like a landfill.

When I complained, my landlords said that they could get much more money than I’m paying for my apartment. No doubt true. They haven’t raised my rent since I moved here in 2020 and it’s incredibly cheap. People will pay a lot more in this neighborhood. Anywhere I go is likely to at least double my rent. So I’ve stayed… trying to make the best of it. I’ve also brought in other tenants, saving the landlords turnover costs. I’m quiet, pay my rent not just on time but early, and clean. I’m a good deal, but I’ll be heading out soon enough.

It’s sad because I’ve just started to meet a few new people. I’ll miss the cat shelter and my cat shelter partner. There are a few other people I’ll miss, whom I hope I’ll still see, but I somewhat doubt that I will. So much is about set and setting.

When I leave I want to find somewhere safe and quiet. With a bathtub (my place only has a shower.) I need so little. Just somewhere safe. No more people pulling up outside my house at 2 am blasting their “music” while doing heaven knows what in their parked car. No more being accosted for money every time I leave the house. No more people screaming on their cell phones.

I like it when people talk very, very quietly.

This is funny because my good friend who is married to an Israeli and spends tons of time in Israel was talking with me yesterday morning about how Israelis are loud.

Are there quiet Israelis?

Who are the quietest people on earth?

Google’s AI suggests Japan and Thailand. Silence is considered a sign of respect.

I’m not sure I’m willing to go that far, but definitely West Philly is not home to the quietest people on earth.

When I do leave and find myself among suburbanites, I will no doubt feel a bit out of place. I’ve been living and working in the hood for so long that much of it seems normal, even if I hate it. I always find it a bit jarring to be around people who have never had to wonder if they could pay their bills. There’s something comforting about the company of my fellows who have hit a patch of hard luck.

Yet I am tired. I want to be able to work hard, make a difference in the next generation, then take a bath and go to bed somewhere safe. I want to take walks without constantly fearing that I’ll be hit by a car. I want to live in a place where stop signs mean something and where people generally believe in obeying the law. My own personal American dream.

Yet there are things I will miss. The flowers I’ve taken pictures of. The rare orange hibiscus. I never knew that there was such a thing as an orange hibiscus until I met one. I’m not a gardener - I can’t imagine wanting to own flowers or take care of them full time - but they are beautiful to look at. Every once in awhile I come across a flower so beautiful it’s hard to believe it’s real. That is what I will miss.

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