I spent many nights these last few weeks falling asleep thinking about how I really wanted to blog. But exhaustion won. Today, on my “hurrication,” I will attempt to update you, so long as the electricity allows (I would like to point out Baltimore is experiencing the storm of a century and SF won the World Series. Hrumph)! I have just completed my first term of graduate school. Hopkins has 8-week long semesters, meaning we are basically always in exams, and by the time Christmas break comes I will have completed the equivalent of a year of course work.
I have learned so much in these past few months, and while the work is challenging, especially the pace, I am feeling like I made the right decision, both in choices of school and subject. It’s validating and exciting.
Baltimore, on the other hand, I’m not so certain about. Coming from a bustling and exciting DC, I’m intimated by the emptiness that is Baltimore. Each time I go into DC, I am always re-amazed at how many people there are walking around, and living their lives in public: on the metro, walking on the street, picnicking outside. Besides the fact that sometimes it feels like nobody else besides me is walking outside, my biggest complaint is the poor public transport system, which makes me feel isolated without a car. But I do understand why they call Baltimore “Charm City,” at least in some neighborhoods. The brick houses surrounding the park and the bar with its own brews are some of my favorite parts about my neighborhood. And I can’t forget the farmer’s market, one of the biggest in the country, which, unlike some of the large markets in DC, is really, truly, local.
During one of my first weeks of classes I took a bus tour through East Baltimore, led by a community activist who has a relationship with Hopkins, which allowed me to see neighborhoods without the “charm.” I knew I was in Baltimore, but I was reminded of a South African township. The poverty in this city, just one block from Johns Hopkins hospital, is devastating: rows and rows of abandoned houses; negative amounts of public services (there is not one mailbox, phone booth, or newspaper stand within miles); a pile of toxic waste seven stories high.
It is estimated that one in ten Baltimore residents are addicted to heroin. I see them: slow moving, out-of-their-minds slumped over men and women. The city has abandoned this neighborhood because of drugs, so drugs become more present. It’s a dangerous, and heartbreaking, cycle. On Friday, some friends and I called 911 because an addict near campus was stumbling into oncoming traffic.
“Poor neighborhoods are created,” our tour guide said. “They don’t just happen.”
Baltimore calls itself the “Greatest City in America.” In my mind, the Greatest City in America would take care of its citizens.
Every day en route to school on the Hopkins shuttle, I pass by a deserted shopping mall. Thirty-six years ago, the city informed the mostly black and Jewish shop owners that they were to close their shops and within two years they would have brand-new stores for them. Today, the old buildings remain, boarded up and empty. Johns Hopkins’ president said that Hopkins is “an island of opportunity in a sea of need.” It is easy to forget, inside the beautiful building donated by Mayor Bloomberg, of what happens outside those walls.
Despite my mixed feelings towards it, Baltimore has been good to me. I have a cheap and cute apartment with a view of the skyline. I’ve been making friends, and I found a yoga studio, coffee shops, and bars that I like. I’m even volunteering, something I regretted not doing enough of in DC, by teaching sex-ed in a Baltimore public school. (More to come on THAT, later.) It just doesn’t feel like home yet.
As I write this blog, Hurricane Sandy is making her way up the east coast. My thoughts are filled with memories of New Orleans; I am grateful that this storm won’t do to my neighborhood what Katrina did to NOLA. Outside it’s windy and wet, but inside I am prepared with a flashlight, candles, some peanut butter and crackers, drinking water, and pots and bowls full of water for toilet flushing since I don’t have a bath stopper! But, hence the blog, the power remains, for now.
I am also filled with
dear memories of a special friend who passed away eight years ago today. My heart breaks with gratitude for his life, his love, and his friendship.
More to come on Baltimore life soon. Until then, stay dry and safe!
