Anyone who has ever had the misfortune of having a class in DRL complains about how far away it is. If it makes you feel any better, I promise, I live farther away from it than you do. DRL’s vomit green tiling is two miles from my front steps and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Unlike most of you, I actually live in West Philadelphia. Just around the corner from 46th and Baltimore, I reside in the thick of the best Ethiopian cuisine on the East Coast, a variety of eclectic corner stores with strange names and even stranger smells and a stone’s throw from Philly’s best (no, not Hemo’s) chicken cheesesteak. I often pretend like Penn doesn’t even exist.
That’s part of the appeal. I’m grateful each night I come home to my quiet neighborhood of families and professors. I never wake up to red cups on my lawn, or fall asleep to the sounds of new country at an inappropriately late hour (SAE, I’m looking at you). And no matter how loud the newest sisters scream on Bid day, I’ll thankfully never have to hear it. Every night, I can detach myself from the non-stop barrage of life in the Penn bubble and go home for a little break, recharge and prepare to rejoin Penn life the next morning.
Admittedly, living in the Wild Wild West has its drawbacks. When I tell anybody that I live even further west than Clark Park, I’m met with shocked stares. “Why would you ever do that?” Needless to say, my friends don’t come out to visit. When its raining or snowing, it can be nearly impossible to leave the house; and the walk home at night can seem interminable. But it’s all worth it. I’ve got the best of both worlds and I’m proud to call West Philly my home.
