Baltimore makes sense to me, the logic of its streets, the accessible nature of its historical importance. I can imagine my neighborhood a hundred years ago, fifty years ago, as easily as parting the slats of my blinds and looking down on my street, and seeing sepia toned ghosts of women and men walking arm in arm to the steps of their mock brownstones, before the wave of converted apartments took hold, and these architectural beauties were each homes, whole entities of dwelling. I used to live on North Calvert Street, one of what I call the “Power Three,” that includes St. Paul and Charles.
They run parallel to each other, with Calvert and Charles being northbound and St. Paul southbound. If you are on one of these streets, you can navigate your way to anyplace else in the city.
I was not born here. I was born in the political hot seat of the country, an hour south of here, but it has never been in my DNA like Baltimore is. Maybe it is that Baltimore chose me as much as I chose it. Who can account for the ownership we feel toward certain people and places and not others? I am the best version of myself suspended above the din of the sirens, panhandlers, bars, and corner transactions, but close enough to insist on myself in this mottled landscape. I love the yearning that assaults this city because it mirrors my own tumult back to me and makes me feel that I am not crazy because I want so much. It is a softer version of city, giving off all the intuitive vibrations of acceptance, a sensual kiss on the mouth, uncomplicated coffee, unassuming hipness, the hopes of the bluecollar to become middle class, art movements, and the pulling up of our selves by the bootstraps.
They run parallel to each other, with Calvert and Charles being northbound and St. Paul southbound. If you are on one of these streets, you can navigate your way to anyplace else in the city.
I was not born here. I was born in the political hot seat of the country, an hour south of here, but it has never been in my DNA like Baltimore is. Maybe it is that Baltimore chose me as much as I chose it. Who can account for the ownership we feel toward certain people and places and not others? I am the best version of myself suspended above the din of the sirens, panhandlers, bars, and corner transactions, but close enough to insist on myself in this mottled landscape. I love the yearning that assaults this city because it mirrors my own tumult back to me and makes me feel that I am not crazy because I want so much. It is a softer version of city, giving off all the intuitive vibrations of acceptance, a sensual kiss on the mouth, uncomplicated coffee, unassuming hipness, the hopes of the bluecollar to become middle class, art movements, and the pulling up of our selves by the bootstraps.
1 comment:
"but it has never been in my DNA like Baltimore is. Maybe it is that Baltimore chose me as much as I chose it. Who can account for the ownership we feel toward certain people and places and not others?"
Salimah, I love your blog! Your project was excellent and definitely deepened my appreciation for brown! I feel so connected especially to this post, and this sentiment. I remember driving back and forth from DC to NJ (where I was born and the rest of my family lives) after we moved and always looking at Baltimore off 95 with a kind of longing - maybe because Baltimore itself is kind of longing in that blue collar way you so beautifully described. It's definitely a city that feels like home to me. It was great getting to know you this semester and I am really looking forward to more of it!
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