My New Home Vs. My Old Home

My New Home vs. My Old Home

I had been in the passenger seat of my parent's rental SUV for 17 hours. My legs ached and butterflies were fluttering in my stomach the entire way. We were making our way to Los Angeles where I would be living while I attended the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising.

It was around 9pm when we finally pulled up to our hotel. We could have been there sooner if we hadn't been lost for 45 minutes driving in circles. I took one look at my surroundings and my eyes began to water. The hotel was an old white building that looked as if it was going to crumble any minute. Several homeless men stood by the front door begging for spare change and groups of intoxicated men and women stumbled out of the restaurant that was connected to the hotel. All I could think was what am I doing here? This isn't the glamorous Los Angeles from the movies I had pictured. Where are the clubs, nice houses, celebrities, and red carpets?

The street was poorly lit, and covered in trash. The air reeked of urine and puddles of mysterious fluid covered the sidewalk. An eerie song played in my head as though it was the soundtrack to my death. I was prepared to be shot, jumped, or car jacked at any moment. My school is on the next street over and I had no idea how I would survive living in this neighborhood. I was ready to call it quits, turn around and go back to my safe and familiar surroundings in Portland.

Four