Damn, my to-watch list keeps getting longer and longer.

Entry #25.2 / 17th July 2022

I went to the Independence Visitors Centre, and while I was disappointed not to see Holly again, I was pleased to only spend five dollars for the bus journey around the tourist sights.

                  Once I got onto the Phlash bus, I dug around in my backpack and pulled out the bracelet.

                  Enjoy the Journey.

                  Taking it out of the packet, I put on the bracelet with a small smile and ran my thumb over the words. And then, by chance, I looked up and saw something.

                  Well, what that something was, I wasn’t too sure, but it looked… beautiful.

                  Without thinking, I pressed the bus’s stop button, and soon, the bus stopped at the next location.

                  Quickly thanking the bus driver, I exited the bus and headed for the traffic lights. Impatiently tapping my foot on the ground, the traffic lights mockingly took their time, but eventually, they indicated I could cross.

                  Soon, I made my way to the location that had caught my eye, and it was just as beautiful as it looked from the bus.

                  Getting the Phlash bus map out, I saw I was at the location of the Rodin Museum. The entrance was an old-style marble wall with black iron gates that were open and led onto an open patio.

                  Slowly going up the steps I took in the area. There were hardly any people about, giving the air a sense of peace and contentment. Fallen lives scattered themselves on the ground and steps, adding more authenticity to the area rather than adding dirt.

                  Walking through the iron gates, I saw a few people mingling around the open patio, but for the most part, the peacefulness followed through.

                  As I wandered through the area, I breathed. A lung of air left my lungs as the tension, worries, and self-doubts left my body. This place, which seemed just as frozen in time as Elfreth’s Alley, brought with it so much stillness and calmness that you forget for a moment that this is only an entrance to a museum. That this is where you are in the world in Philadelphia. Who you are.

                  It was a beautiful way of taking a momentary break from everything and everyone – including myself.

***

The peace couldn’t last forever, though.

                  Since I was on a strict time schedule, I could only stay within the Rodin Museum grounds for ten minutes or so. But it was nice – a nice break away from everything.

                  Soon, though, I returned on the Phlash bus and headed towards the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

                  Or, more specifically, the Rocky Steps.

                  It seems hypocritical to visit an iconic place in a film I haven’t seen.

                  Damn, my to-watch list keeps getting longer and longer.

                  Once the bus stopped at the Museum of Art, I thanked the driver and hopped off. With each step, the stairs came into full view.

                  Woa… I finally stood at the bottom of the steps, my eyes wide with… That’s a lot of steps. I let out a laugh, pulling out my phone. It was not enough to stop me, though.

                  Once the camera was on and staring down at my feet, I sped, walked, or lightly jogged up the steps, recording each second of it. Laughing the whole way through, a childish gleam ran through me as I did.

                  A gust mix of breathlessness and laughter broke out when I finally reached the top of the steps. My legs shagging with relief when I finally stopped and took in the sights before me.

                  Suddenly, in the midst of the relieved joy, someone tapped on my shoulder, and I jumped, turning towards the source.

                  “Cami?” I asked, surprised to see the familiar face of my fellow camp co-worker.

                  I shouldn’t be too surprised – I knew some internationals would be coming to Philadelphia this weekend. But not for the full weekend – I think everyone mainly came on Sunday, today. But with the group WhatsApp group I was in, it was difficult to keep up with everyone’s plans. I didn’t realise that Cami and Pedro were amongst those who were coming today.

                  Cami held a kind soul about her that you knew was a rarity in this world. So, again, it shouldn’t be too surprising that when she saw me, she came to say hello, along with Pedro.

                  I chatted with them for a good ten minutes, giving them suggestions of where to go and the Phlash bus, which takes you to all the destinations for five dollars. Cami then assisted in taking some photos on the Rocky Steps, and we all shared a selfie together.

                  Once the conversation died out and I realised the time, we went our separate ways. However, I saw the Rocky statue when I got to the Phlash bus stop. I internally debated whether to get a photo with it as I did not have enough time (as there was a bit of a queue), but… I haven’t seen the film yet. It’s one thing to take a photo of the Rocky Steps; it feels like an insult to take a photo of the statue that the film is about.

                  Am I thinking too much into it?

                  ‘Most probably.’

***

City Hall was next on the hit list. Well, not hit list—this is America, and I don’t want people thinking I’m literally going to be taking people down. Honestly, I wasn’t even 100 per cent sure why I wanted to see City Hall. Obviously, it’s a historic place, and apparently, I love me some history, but I honestly wasn’t fussed about it.

                  But I saw it on the map, and my intuition told me to go.

                  It couldn’t hurt.

                  So, getting off the Phlash bus for the last time, I went to the City Hall building.

                  And fuck! It was bigger than what I was expecting.

                  ‘What were you expecting?’ The bright voice inquired as my feet aimlessly walked around the building.

                  I took it all in—the white brickwork, the design, and the structure. It was interesting to see, but it didn’t capture my attention or imagination as much as the previous tourist places I had been to. But I kept with it, taking photos and videos and just being…

                  Then, I rounded a corner of the building and stopped in my tracks.

                  To one side of the building, in its open space, was a type of BBQ, with food being served in one area of the space. It seemed to be BBQ food—burgers, hot dogs, etc. Just opposite it were integrated ground sprinklers, popping up and down with water on the brick/concrete. A few kids were running around through it, laughing as they were covered in the cool water.

                  Tucking my phone in the safety of my shorts pocket, I made my way through the sprinklers – on the steel pathway with a safe distance between each sprinkler.

                  Once safely away from being sprinkler-field, my eyes widened as I took in the next attraction of the area.

                  Rothman Roller Rink.

                  It was another one of those situations where things you see characters do on TV or in films magically appear before you. It’s so stunningly surreal that I want to pinch myself to make sure I’m not caught up in one of my many daydreams.

                  I remember rollerblading as a kid. But those were with straight-lined roller blades, and nine times out of ten, my two left feet would knock me to the ground. Weirdly enough, I was much better at ice skating.

                  But whenever I watched American films and TV shows, and they had a part where the characters were rollerblading at a rink, the desire to try that sort of thing ramped up. I had seen a few places in England that do that sort of thing, and whenever I looked into it, either the price was not reasonable or, when it was, the time was not reasonable.

                  Getting out my phone, I glanced down at the time. Once I triple-checked the time of my bus back to NYC, I realised I had a good forty-five minutes to spare.

                  Approaching the stand of the payment, I saw that in total – with entry, roller blades, and a locker lock – it came up to twenty-five dollars. I pushed my lips together as I internally debated, weighing up the pros and cons, the gains and disadvantages, the positives and –

                  ‘Oh bloody hell, just do it!’ the responsible voice hollered out, possibly inspiring envy from the bright voice because of its loudness. ‘You only bloody live once!’

                  The decision was then made; I spoke to the till worker, Frank, and purchased all the needed items.

***

Eggcellent Cafe

Entry #25.1 / 17th July 2022

I groaned in high protest when my alarm screamed into the darkness. Pulling me out of my slumber and into the waking world once more.

                  ‘Well, you’re still technically in the slumber world,’ the responsible voice yawned through. ‘As you have four other females asleep in this room.’

                  As I blinked myself awake in the pool of darkness, my mind reviewed the events… or non-events that occurred last night.

                  Once I left the Eastern State Penitentiary (and briefly returned because I forgot my damn water bottle), I headed to the hostel where I would be staying for the night—Apple Hostels of Philadelphia. It was a nice location, in two buildings set across from each other on the narrow street. Luckily, I was in the main building, and once I unloaded my backpack into my locker in my four-bunk bedroom, I went out to get dinner.

                   Through my WhatsApp chats, Jonesy told me about her own experiences travelling through America with her partner and recommended a place in Philadelphia to get a Philly Cheese Steak—Pat’s King of Steaks. And it was absolutely gorgeous. The only downside was that I couldn’t eat it all and had to store it away in the Hostel fridge to save for tomorrow.

                  Then, on my way back to the hostel, I stopped by a souvenir shop to purchase a Philadelphia top.

                  It was a nice, chilled evening that completely helped distract myself from my personal revelations.

                  With another dramatic groan, I pushed myself out of the comforts of the hostel bed (honestly, why are these hostel beds so comfy?) and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

                  After an hour of refreshing myself in the bathroom, getting changed, and packing blindly in the darkness of the female dorm, I was ready to go. I booked out of the hostel and typed in breakfast restaurants into Google Maps, settling on one that wasn’t too far from the hostel.

                  Eggcellent Café.

                  The café was tucked into the Old City of Philadelphia, with a menu that did focus heavily on eggs (which, duh), but also offered over foods, mainly organic, healthy foods.

                  As I was directed to a small table in the corner of the café, I took in the comfort of the place. With plants potted at every available surface, the yellow-painted walls and the closeness of all the tables may appear cramped, but with everything else added, it made it cosier.

                  The server, Hailey, handed me the menu with a small smile. “Is there anything I can get you as you look through the menu?”

                  I thought about it. “Could I have a cup of English tea? And orange juice?”

                  Hailey nodded. “Comin’ right up.”

                  I spent the next five minutes scanning through the menu and was torn between pancakes and French toast. It didn’t matter which one I had, but the two key things that were putting me off them were the blueberries and strawberries that came with them.

                  I’m a total fusspot here, but I never tried blueberries on their own. And the one time I tried strawberries, I hated their bitter taste.

                  Why am I making a big deal out of this? I grunted mentally. I can push them away like I always do with foods I don’t like.

                  So, when Hailey returned to drop off my ordered drinks, I made my food order. “Can I have French toast, please?”

                  Hailey received the menu from me with another small smile. “Of course.”

                  For the next fifteen minutes, I went through my phone. I edited photos I had taken the previous day and posted them on my private American Instagram account, then looked up things I could do in my last few hours in Philadelphia. When I decided what to do after breakfast, the breakfast arrived.

                  “Thank you!” I enthusiastically said to Hailey, who just gave me another parting smile before returning to her work.

                  The French toast looked amazing. The maple syrup was to the side, ready to be poured all over the food. With powder glittering the food, and even the strawberries and blueberries looked delicious. So much so that when I went to make the automatic move of pushing them to one side –

                  ‘Don’t.’ The bright voice was uncharacteristically quiet, her voice clouded in firmness and maturity. ‘Don’t… give it a try.’

                  I hesitated. Don’t get me wrong, I’m always up for trying new things, but when it comes to food…

                  It’s always been a struggle.

                  ‘Think of the tomatoes,’ the bright voice advised, and the first night out with everyone in White Plains came into mind. ‘You don’t like tomatoes on their own, but when they were on that pizza when you went out the other week, it was alright, right?’

                  On that first night, before all the school drama took place, we had dinner, and I had ordered a pizza. I still remember the panic I felt when I first saw the tomatoes plastered all over the pizza instead of tomato sauce. How I glanced around everyone around me and felt forced to eat it…

                  And the bright voice was correct; it wasn’t that bad.

                  I momentarily waited for the responsible voice to come in. But she was so quiet as a mouse that I thought she was metaphorically having a heart attack from hearing the bright voice being so reasonable.

                  ‘And if you don’t like it, you never have to try them or anything else new ever again.’

                  ‘Okay, the heart attack is over.’

                  I stared at the food a few minutes longer before grasping the knife and fork in both hands and diving into a piece of French toast. Making sure I had one of the cut-up fruits on it.

                  Taking a bite, the maple syrup first flooded my senses before the French toast and piece of strawberry followed.

                  “Oh my god!” I exclaimed, mouth still full of food. “This is amazing!” Out of curiosity, I tasted one of the strawberries on its own, and while it wasn’t as bad as I remembered, I still didn’t like it—not on its own, anyway.

                  I did the same with the blueberries. First, I tasted them with the French toast with maple syrup, then on their own. It was the same result as the strawberry.

                  Okay, I mentally thought as I dug through the French toast with the fruits. There are foods out there I don’t like on its ownbut like mixed in with other foods? Am I some kind of food-mixer…? Is that even a thing?

                  ‘It is now!’ The bright voice returned to her normal volume.

                  ‘Just what we need,’ the responsible voice sighed. ‘For her to get an ego boost.’

***

Once I had fully inhaled my breakfast and drinks, I paid, tipped the restaurant, and made my way to my first location. Following the ever-reliable Google Maps, I made it to Elfreth’s Alley, the nation’s oldest residential street.

                  Walking down the street, I truly felt transported through time. The brickwork of the buildings, the design of the street, and how it was represented… It really felt like you were back in the old times of America. Coming off the declared independence, celebrating the 4th of July, people making a home here and starting a family, neighbourhood arguments that involved people screaming from their bedroom windows to each other, first and last kisses in the few, dark corners…

                  Elfreth’s Alley was pulsing with stories. With unspoken whispers. History and wonderment.

                  It was no wonder why people still lived on this street. What better place to live than somewhere that is so full of heart and spirit?

                  As I made my way up and down the street, I saw a photographer taking a few photos of the street and buildings, and an idea emerged.

                  “Ugh,” I began hesitantly to the photographer, Doug. “I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind taking a photo of me sitting on the steps?”

                  Doug smiled at me as he lowered his camera. “Of course, pass us your phone.”

                  Getting my phone onto camera mode, I passed over my phone and shrugged off my backpack, putting it to the side as I sat in front of one of the houses in the street. Doug took a couple of photos of me from two different angles before handing me back over the phone.

                  “Just call me over again if you’re unhappy with any of them,” Doug said.

                  “I’m sure they’re perfect,” I assured him. “Thank you so much!”

                  Doug nodded, and we went our separate ways, with me looking through the photos. Settling on one I loved, I sent it to Zara.

                  Another add to the neighbourhood stairs.

***

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Cell Block 7

Entry #24.5 / 16th July 2022

Eerie. That’s probably the first word I would use to describe the Eastern State Penitentiary—very and completely eerie. The moment I stepped onto the tour officially, onto the prison grounds, I was hit immediately with energies of horror and sadness. It was very clear that this was not a happy place to be once upon a time.

            But as the audio clips rang in my ears, and I took photos and videos on my phone, a two-word sentence also sprang forward.

            Hauntingly beautiful.

            The spirits that roamed this prison were there with me, with every tourist, walking the cell blocks. But they weren’t there to frighten us, they just wanted to be acknowledged. And I think, with the amounts of stories of different prison inmates, of the conditions that they lived and died in, maybe those spirits felt somewhat peaceful for the fact that history was remembered.

            Though, there were three parts of the tour that shook me to the core.

            The first (and one we will return to) was Cell Block 7. It was an area that didn’t seem real. It was an undoubtedly beautiful sight that was hammered with tragedy, and it was the only cell block that allowed you to use the stairs and see it at a different and higher angle.

            I couldn’t stay up there any longer than a minute.

            The view… It shook something in me. Something that I couldn’t put my finger on until much later in the tour.

            The second was a story – a girl. Her name was Mary Ash. She was just eleven years old when she was sentenced to four years at the Eastern State Penitentiary for arson, and later died at possibly the age of thirteen due to tuberculosis. And hearing the audio guide’s voice speak about her with such passion, such sympathy as I stared at her photo… It was heartbreaking to know that someone so young, who had all of that life to give to the world still, had their last memory being locked away in such conditions that caused her death.

             The third is the most important one. It leads me back to the first one.

            Going rogue from the main tour and listening to many other audio clips around the prison, I stumbled upon (quite literally) a cut-off cell block that looked… very intimidating. It was dark, with only peeks of daylight shining through that added to its overall creepiness.

            Going up close to the bars, I noticed an information board with the audio guides’ number 26 on it.

            Reaching for the audio guide device, I typed in the number and pressed play.

            “Hi,” the audio voice began. “I’m actor Steve Buscemi.” I wasn’t too surprised, as he was the one who spoke about Cell Block 7. “Is this place haunted? Who knows? Some visitors have said that they ‘sensed something’ while visiting the Eastern State.”

            That’s one way of describing it.

            Then, a different voice came onto the audio. “My name is Charles Adams. I wrote a book, Philadelphia Ghost Stories.”

            Steve then came back. “Mr. Adams is not related to the famous cartoonist who created the Addams Family, but they share an affection for macabre.”

            “I had heard the standard ghost stories, about shadowy figures darting from cell to cell and all the ‘whooo’ stories.”

            Okay, I’ve had a totally different experience with the spirits here than everyone else.

            “Nothing profound until I met a locksmith. He was removing about a hundred forty-two old lock from the door of an abandoned cell, and he encountered what he described as an incredible and powerful energy.” My eyes focused on the cell block before me as my imagination let the scene play out before me of the locksmith doing his job. “This person was genuinely frightened by what had happened to him. He could not understand it, and therefore, I believe that what he told me was hundred percent the truth.”

            “What we know is that enormous suffering occurred behind these walls for over hundred forty years.” Steve then stated, my mind letting the words take over as my eyes stayed peeled to the abandoned cell block. “Men and women died here. And the building itself is certainly ‘haunting’ if not haunted.”

            “In my opinion,” Charles’ voice became another echo in the cell. “There’s not one ghost, not three ghosts, it’s a stew of souls, restless spirits that swirl for eternity here at Eastern State Penitentiary.”

            “Maybe you don’t believe in ghosts.” Steve Buscemi voice trailed on, “But take a look around. If ghosts exist anywhere, they must be here.”

            I couldn’t pinpoint for you where the epiphany came from. Was it something in the words that either Charles Adams and/or Steve Buscemi spoke? Was it the creepiness of the abandoned cell block I stood in front of? Or a weird combination of both?

            Whatever it was, something clicked in me and quickly, I found myself hurrying back into the main attractions of prison.

            Cell Block 7.

            Any resistance I felt going back in, going back up those stairs, was tossed to the side as I forced myself up those stairs. My breathing was heavy, goosebumps rose all over, and the echoes of doors from other rooms were like tiny pins in this isolated block.

            Unlike the last time I stood on top of this balcony, I was the only one present in this cell block.

            Hands clasped on the balcony rail, I looked out to the cell block, seeing and feeling.

            Time rewinds itself before my eyes. Seeing many people, many prisoners, going about their lives. Men. Women. Children – like Mary Ash. Going about surviving. Trying to get through the day that would give them the added strength to get by tomorrow. There would be deals going on with prison guards, secretive talks between prisoners, and physical brawls that the prison guards would have no choice but to intervene.

            I could see it all – from the view and height that I held.

            The view and height terrified me most of all.

            I can’t say for sure if this balcony platform was always here or if it was put up when the prison became a public museum. But while it gave a more perspective and beauty view, it was also psychologically intense.

            How many people stood where I had when the prison was a prison? How many powerful prisoners stood here, keeping an eye on everything? Watching all the corrupt guards, the secretive talks, and the bloody altercations. How more powerful did it make them feel? How much control must they have felt in a place that tries to strip them of that very control?

            All of that was one sole objective – to survive.

            That must be exhausting.

            Is this what every bad person – abuser, murderer, etc – feels that they must do? To know what everyone is doing, talking about, and even thinking? To micromanage everything so you can better know what you can use for your own survival? So, you know what you can use against those you feel are a threat?

            Joy. I concluded sorrowfully. Is this… Is Cell Block 7 her mind?

            I thought of every interaction with Joy, every memory… There was always a sharpness to her eyes. How she would walk into a room, whether crowded or empty, and calculate every aspect. See every present interaction and hold that against previous interactions. To see every expression and interpret them to previous interpretations of those similar facial expressions. Hear one phrase and how its tone holds it and come up to a million conclusions of what it meant.

            And that was her prison.

            Her mind, along with many horrible people, was Cell Block 7. A constant alertness, a constant calculation, a constant survival.

            Survival isn’t necessarily a bad thing. When it comes to actual prisons, it’s pretty much the only and best thing you can do.

            But when that survival is based on deep-rooted insecurity, overwhelming distrust and the need for complete control, that’s when survival instincts twists into something ugly. It makes a person turn into an abuser, murderer, etc.

            It makes ordinary people turn into ghosts controlled by their twisted survival.

            Is… I wiped away the few tears that escaped my eyes. Is this me?

            The camp, the other internationals…

            Forearms now resting on the rail, I bent down slightly as a wave of nausea flowed through me. My chest constricting as the world felt light. Ready to break apart and end everything.

            Oh god, I am turning into the Joy 2.0?

To Change With The Times

Entry #24.4 / 16th July 2022

Despite being a short distance from the Independence Hall from the American Revolution Museum, getting there was still a rush. That was more of a human error, though, than a distance one.

            Just like with the Liberty Bell, I had to have a bag check, which, surprisingly enough, I’m slowly adapting to. It’s the American way.

            After waiting a few minutes outside with other people, the tour guide—who turned out to be security for the Independence Hall—came and collected us, opening the doors to the hall.

            The first room we adventured into was the Supreme Court Room, where the tour guide/security man – Keith – asked us a series of questions, pointing to left and right to whatever our answers were.

            Unsurprisingly, I always ended up with the opposite answer of the majority. Okay, so I either have no faith in the American system or any legal system, or I’m just very aware of how the world works.

            ‘The latter.’ The responsible voice voted.

            Ten or so minutes of being in the courtroom we went to the Assembly Room, where the Declaration of Independence was written.

            “Now, I’m going to pose a question for you all.” Keith started, slightly leaning on the barriers to the room displays. “When you first start a business of any sort, do you think over time, as sales and the business grows, do you think the business plan or model will stay the same as when it first began?”

            The majority of people, including myself, shook their heads.

            “No. When something grows, it gets bigger. And as time goes on, the world changes. How it functions changes. And the people who wrote the declaration knew this – which is why the declaration was never meant to be the final thing.” My eyebrows narrowed, focusing completely on Keith as he went on. “As Hamilton, Washington, and so many people realised – the declaration would never be perfect. As they understood, things change, people change, and the circumstances of this independence will change. So, the declaration will have to change with the times. So, the declaration, you know, was never meant to be perfect – it was meant to be the first draft to show this country’s people and the world that this was happening. Even if they had to keep rewriting it in years to come – America had won its independence, and it was going to keep it.”

            I tuned out the question part of the tour as the words, the lesson, repeated themselves in my head.

            It was never meant to be final. It was meant to change with time, circumstance, and people.

            It was meant to grow, adapt, and learn.

            It was meant to be the essence of what humanity is.

            Evolution.

***

Not long after a miracle, I managed to get on the Phlash bus in one piece. My brain was in a fog of deep thinking that I wasn’t even acknowledging the streets I was walking through. This caused me to have a few mini-trips on pathways.

            It was a roughly ten-minute journey to the Eastern State Penitentiary, but once I was off the bus, my stomach roared with attention again. Knowing I needed something more filling than the cookie I had earlier, I made my way across the street from the old prison and to OCF Coffee House.

            It was such a beautiful café, and their food was amazing. I had a Classic Grilled Cheese with a packet of crisps and orange juice.

            I was definitely ready for the next event afterwards.

***

Crossing the road, I pulled out my phone from my back pocket and flicked through my emails as I approached the Eastern State Penitentiary’s entry. I smiled at the two employees as I slowed my steps, my phone slowly loading with the online ticket I had.

            The male employee, Harvey, scanned the ticket on his device and gave me a wide-tooth smile. “Excellent! I see you’ve requested to have the audio with it also?”

            I nodded, “Yeah. I thought it might be good to actually hear someone talk about the prison’s history as well as reading the information boxes.”

            Harvey nodded in understanding, turning halfway as he pointed down a stairwell just a little into the entry point. “If you just follow down those stairs and just straight on, you’ll find where all the audio tour devices are. Someone should be there to hand one over and explain how it works. And then, straight on after that point, you’ll start your tour.”

            “Thanks,” I adjusted my backpack as I placed my phone back into my back pocket. “How long does it take? The tour?”

            “It depends,” Harvey started. “If you just stick to the main tour, it should take around forty minutes.”

            “The main tour?”

            “The main tour consists of ten audios on the device, but there are around, I think, forty audios you can listen to around the whole of the prison. Which, if you did that, it would take around four to five hours.”

            I blinked, “Wow, that’s a lot of…talking.”

            Harvey laughed. “Most definitely. Enjoy.”

            “Thanks!”

            ‘Okay, I gotta ask,’ the responsible voice echoed out along with the steps I took down into the lower part of the land. ‘How can you enjoy being in a prison?’

***

Wow. Could I be any more British?

Entry #24.3 / 16th July 2022

Thanks to Holly’s instructions, I managed to locate and get to the museum within ten minutes. I thought due to the museum topic as well, the place would be packed. But I was wrong – there was hardly anyone there. The building that hosted the museum, though, was eye-catching. It looked like it had been polished hourly, both the floors and the walls, and its spaciousness made me believe that it once was a place where people came for those old-timer balls. Waltz and other types of romantic dances would take place.

            Unsure of where to go or what to do, I slowly approached the desk that held queue ropes just before it. Zig-zagging my way through, I waited for the single male employee to gesture to me.

            He did so the moment I stopped, and I felt a bit nervous as I walked right up to the desk.

            “Hi!” I began with a wide, nervous smile. “I have a ticket?” Why am I asking?

            The male employee, Edward, gave me a small smile. “Brilliant.”

            I reached for the back pocket of my shorts and passed over the ticket.

            Once Edward typed something into the computer; after reading through my ticket, he reached over for something on his desk. “Right, so I’m going to give you this pin to wear.” He passed me over said pin that had a white star with a yellow background. “This will show anyone working here that you’ve paid for it. And if you head up that spiral staircase,” he then leaned forward slightly and followed to where he was pointing to in another spacious room. “That will lead you up to the museum and theatre, where another showing will happen in another ten minutes.”

            I raised my eyebrows. “What is it showing?”

            “It’s basically a short film of the summarised history of the American Revolution and of George Washington during that time,” Edward explained. “You don’t have to see it, but it is included, so I recommend it.”

            “How long is it?”

            “Around ten minutes.”

            I hummed in thought as I strapped the pin to my top. “Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome. Enjoy.”

            I smiled gratefully at Edward as I made my way into the next spacious room.

            It wasn’t hard to track down the spiral staircase—it was the first thing you saw due to how much it dominated the room. Reaching for the rail connected to the white wall, I made my way up the spiral staircase. When I reached the top, there was a sign with the time of the next showing in the theatre in the first room on the left.

            Having a mini-debate in my mind, I ended up shrugging. Fuck it.

            I strolled into the almost empty theatre. Most people were sitting in the middle, taking up three rows. I sat in the fourth, unseated row, and my back groaned with pleasure as the backpack left my shoulders.

            Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to pack everything in one bag.

            Sitting down, I briefly glanced through my phone while waiting for the short film to begin. Getting lost in the digital world; I didn’t even notice two people coming to join the fourth row until a soft “excuse me” grabbed my attention.

            I blinked and whipped my head upwards. “Oh, sorry!” I breathed out as I saw a man and a boy with small smiles as I sprang upwards. “Sorry!” I picked up my backpack and pressed myself into the fold-in seat.

            “No problem,” the man said as he and his son passed me to move further into the seating row.

            Wow. Could I be any more British?

            Once I got comfortable in my seat again, the doors to the theatre closed, and an employee stood at the front of the theatre, with everyone going quiet.

***

The short film was informative. I learned more about George Washington – which my knowledge of before was zero. Whilst he was admirable and stood for the independence of his country and his people, there was a whole lot of grey too. The number one is that he was a slave owner and often struggled with the concept of giving freedom to the slaves. Hearing that… It wasn’t easy to, and I know many people would defend that mindset of “it was a different time.” Which, yes, it was a completely different time, but…

            It’s important that it’s highlighted. Despite the important work and accomplishments that George Washington achieved, he still stood for something that didn’t match morality, especially the morality that we know today.

            Plus, it shows that even good people can have bad parts to them too. That no individual is perfect. And it’s how we learn today – understanding the wrong parts of historic people so we can improve in the present.

            At the end of the short film, they showcased the tent that George Washington used during the war and, unfortunately, Robert E. Lee used during the Civil War.

            Obviously, I didn’t really want to stare at the tent for that long.

            Don’t get me wrong, it was cool that something that old was still well preserved, but the Robert E. Lee part made it a bit less cool.

            After that, I went through the museum and bloody hell – talk about information overload!

            The first part of the museum, which showed and discussed the events leading up to and explaining the reasons behind the revolution, was interesting. Yes, it was a bit of an information load, and I probably hadn’t fully retained everything I read, but the gist of the reasons was understood. And I loved hearing about different people at the time and their thoughts and feelings.

            There was even a statue display of George Washington himself breaking up a fight between two camp soldiers, which a young boy witnessed at the time.

            Towards the end, there were more displays of the weaponry and military plans of the war, which didn’t hold my attention for very long. I’m not really a big war strategy person, though I know someone who is.

            Dad would love this museum. I thought as I came towards the end of the museum, my brain fried and high on all the information.

            Once I fully exited the museum, I made my way into the gift shop and headed straight for the books.

            If Dad can’t be here, then I can get him a book about it to show I was thinking about him. Confused about what book to get him, I asked the gift shop assistant.

            “I would give this book a try,” Candice collected the said blue book with the year 1775 printed on the front. “It goes over the events and battles leading to it in a way that’s easy to read.”

            I smiled, “Thanks.”

            Wanting something to immortalise my time somehow here, I looked around the gift shop until I stopped by a couple of bracelets.

            Like in Washington, D.C., with the Lincoln coin/compass necklace, I was drawn to one in particular. I picked up one of the bracelets with an engraving: “Enjoy the Journey.”

            Putting the two items on the counter, I bought both without a second thought.

***

“Your revolution might inspire me to rebel being British myself.”

Entry #24.2 / 16th July 2022

Leaving the Liberty Bell building, I was unsure of what to do next. I knew I wanted to do something, but I had another two hours before my Independence Hall showing, so I was at a loss.

            Letting my feet take the lead, I wandered around the Liberty Bell exhibit area and came across the Independence Visitor’s Centre. Curious, I made my way across the roads and went into the building. To the right, I saw a gift shop that I noted to make sure I returned to get a Philly top—like I did in Washington, DC.

            I then spotted an information desk with pamphlets about events, museums, etc. I was about to approach the desk when I also spotted something else just beyond it.

            A café.

            And I swear it was like an instinctive reaction of my stomach growling. Reminding me I needed more fuel to continue with the day.

            I hate being human sometimes. I shook my head as I quickened my pace past the information desk and to the café.

***

With my stomach satisfied, I went to the information desk and waited in line behind two women who were speaking to a female employee.

            “How much will the Hop-On Hop-Off bus be for the both of us?” One of the women asked for a female employee.

            The female employee did the maths on the computer, looking back up at the two women quickly after. “Seventy-two dollars between you both, with the tickets being thirty-six each.”

            The woman who asked looked to her companion. “Would that be better? Because then we can get on and off anywhere and anytime?”

            The friend nodded. “Yeah, let’s go for it.”

            From the look the employee gave slightly though, I had a feeling that this wasn’t the right choice nor the financially sensible one. But what could she do? They had made their choice and were willing to pay that price for it.

            ‘If only we could waste that much money.’ The responsible voice tutted, and I pressed my lips together to hold in my external reaction.

            Once the two women paid and got the directions to the bus stop to hop on, they left, and I waited in my spot until the female employee was ready for me.

            “Hello, how can I help you?” The female employee – Holly, I read on the name tag – asked with an upbeat tone when I approached the desk.

            “Hi! I’m not too sure, to be honest…” I gave an awkward laugh that was met with a friendly smile in return. “I have around two hours to kill before my Independence Hall entry, and I was trying to figure out how to fill it.”

            The friendly smile widened. “Well, we do have quite a few museums around like the Art Museum, The Franklin Institute… but I’m guessing you’d want something that was close by to the Independence Hall, so it won’t be a big rush afterwards?”

            I nodded after a second’s consideration. “Yeah, that would probably be the smart idea.”

            “There is the Museum of the American Revolution nearby it. Might be good to brush up on your history of the Independence before seeing where it was formed?” Holly suggested, her tone not having an ounce of forcefulness.

            “There’s a museum on the revolution?” The moment the question came out, I knew how stupid it sounded. Of course, there was a museum on it – there was pretty much a museum on anything nowadays; why not the American Revolution?

            Luckily, Holly didn’t make me feel stupid for the stupid question. “Yeah, it’s actually really good as well. It’s one of the first things I recommend to anyone.”

            “How much is it?” I asked, though, at this point, I didn’t really mind the price; museums were slowly becoming treasures for me.

            “Twenty-one dollars.”

            I nodded, “I’ll take it. You never know,” I began as I pulled off my backpack to revive my purse. “Your revolution might inspire me to rebel being British myself.”

            Holly laughed as she typed up on the computer. “Are you here on holiday?”

            I made a face, “Kind of… I’m currently here for the summer working for a camp. But I have weekends off, so I can go on mini holidays at those times.”

            “So, you’re just here for the day?”

            I nodded, “I leave tomorrow afternoon – back to New York.”

            The conversation briefly paused as I paid for the ticket for the museum and Holly gave me brief instructions on how to get there.

            “Is there anything else I can help you with today?” Holly genuinely inquired as I shrugged my backpack on.

            I thought about it for a moment. “Well, actually… I’m going to the Eastern State Penitentiary this evening, and I was wondering what bus to take to get there. Preferably one that won’t cost thirty-six dollars.”

            Holly laughed, clearly not taking offence, “That isn’t my first recommendation, trust me. But if you get that Phlash pamphlet there,” she gestured to the pamphlet holders on top of the desk, just out of reach from where she sat, and I saw what she was directing too. “That bus goes around all the tourist areas, including the Eastern State Penitentiary.” I opened the pamphlet and saw a map inside of where the bus went too, as well as other locations that I wasn’t even aware of. “It costs two dollars per ride, or it’s five dollars for the day. You can even pay for it now or on the bus.”

            I hummed as calculations for the day went through my mind. “I think… I think I’ll pay for it on the bus, and just for per ride. As I’ll only want to get to the prison today, nowhere else.” I then asked Holly, “But could I get a ticket tomorrow?” Granted, I had no plans tomorrow, but it might be a good way to hit some tourist areas in a short time.

            Holly nodded, “Of course!”

            I smiled gratefully. “Thank you so much – you’ve been both very nice and very helpful.” Then I thought over my words, “Not that no other information centre is not very nice nor very helpful, it’s just –” I cut myself off mid-ramble. “Thank you.”

            Holly gave a small laugh. “You’re very welcome. I hope you enjoy the rest of your time in America.”

            I returned the laugh. “Fingers crossed!”

***

A bird just shat on my phone!

Entry #24.1 / 16th July 2022

You’d think I’d be used to waking at stupid times in the morning – that the early rises would make some kind of impact on the human body. Get it into some kind of robotic routine. But my determined stubbornness is within my physical DNA as well as the mental, my body screaming in absolute protest when the five twenty-five am alarm rang out.

            I don’t know how I managed to do it, but somehow, I packed all the things I would need for a night in Philadelphia into my backpack: clothes for tonight/tomorrow, bathroom toiletries, makeup, a camera, and even a towel.

            If Zara could see me now! I thought enthusiastically as I rushed to splatter some makeup on my face.

            Amazingly, I managed to get my makeup done within fifteen minutes. After quickly changing into an outfit for the day, I set off at ten past six for the Pleasantville train station.

            It was hard not to feel the bittersweetness as I walked through the streets of the early morning. Not to think of Janette and Ryan. I knew they had found a new camp to work at, and that they were doing much better. But I missed them. Even if I hadn’t known them for that long, they were the only ones I could feel… real with.

            Now, the whole camp experience felt so surreal – and not the good kind.

            Though, I mused as I waited for the train to Grand Central, not the bad kind either. Just… surreal.

***

I really wanted to have breakfast again in the middle of Times Square. I thought it would’ve been a beautiful poetic way to start the next weekend adventure. To any adventure at this point. But since I started off a bit later, I had less time.

            I did manage to get McDonald’s breakfast, but since my bus would be departing in less than forty-five minutes, I didn’t have enough time to sit in the middle of the temporarily quiet city.

            I arrived at the bus station on time and got a good window seat in the back.

            Once the bus had set off and the breakfast was eaten, I let my eyelids get heavier and heavier, surrendering to the downtime my body still needed.

***

Number 43 downside of travelling by coach,’ the responsible voice listed as my consciousness came too. Eyes blinking rapidly, adapting to the brightened daylight. ‘Your forehead is often a casualty.’

            That’s when I realised the corner of my forehead was against the window and once, I slowly retreated from it, I could feel a slight uncomfortable pressure forming. I groaned at the possible ramifications.

            ‘Reminds me of that time you got a concussion on a coach journey.’ The bright voice reminisced, ‘You know, that one you hardly remember because you whacked your head on some kind of front handle of the seating? On the way to Spain with –’

            I shook my head, both waking myself up fully and stopping the memory lane intake that the bright voice was trying to indulge me in.

            My eyes looked out to the surrounding areas, seeing streets of neighbourhoods that weren’t completely different from NYC or Washington DC, but different enough to tell you weren’t in either of those places. The buildings weren’t as tall, and there were more red bricks than in either previous location.

            Within less than an hour of waking up, my body and mind were ready as the coach pulled into the bus station.

            “Welcome to Philadelphia!” The driver’s voice rang out through the bus as everyone slowly got up from their seats and headed out of the coach.

            I patiently waited for the majority of people to get off before doing so myself. I wasn’t in any big rush—the only things I had booked were the entrance to see the Independence Hall and Eastern State Penitentiary, but the former was for in the afternoon and the latter for early evening. So, there was more than enough time to explore around without any big rush.

            “Thank you!” I nodded to the coach driver as I took the last step off the bus. Helping other passengers get their suitcases from the coach’s lower boot, he gave me a small smile in return before fully focusing back on his task.

            Wandering through the bus station building and out of the other side, I pulled out my phone and used the old-fashioned Google Maps to locate the Liberty Bell. Once it was up and ready to follow, I made my way out to the streets of Philadelphia.

            However, not even a minute into the walk, something both bizarre and slightly amazing happened.

            Something passed down in front of me in a flash, and my whole body halted to it. Thinking for a random second someone, for some random reason, had thrown something at me. Like a pen, or a shoe.

            Damn stupid school bullies.

            ‘At least you’re not on a bike this time!’

            But feeling no initial impact though, I quickly ruled out a pen or shoe being thrown at me.

            It wasn’t until my eyes returned to my phone that I realised what had taken place.

            “Oh my god…” I breathed out as I raised my phone closer to inspect it more, but I quickly understood.

            A bird just shat on my phone!

            A large, snorty laugh collapsed out of me, and I felt the eyes of strangers as I laughed like a maniac.

            Turning on my heels, I made my way back to the bus station and to the female toilets, still in fits of laughter as one thought echoed in my mind.

            That’s meant to mean good luck, right?

***

After the “bird shating” incident–that I couldn’t stop randomly laughing at–I eventually made my way to the Liberty Bell. As pre-warned as well, there was a massive queue to see the symbolic bell. A pretty huge one. However, it seemed my jolly mood made the universe on my side as the queue moved quite quickly, and soon I was inside – getting my bag checked like with airport security.

            Fuck me – Americans don’t mess around.

            Once it was firmly established that I wasn’t a terrorist seeking to harm the Liberty Bell (a sentence that I never considered I would ever say or write), I went to the beginning parts of the building. Due to all I had been told about the Liberty Bell, I just thought it was a direct view of the bell, and then I would be out.

            But it turns out I was completely wrong. The building was more of a museum for the bell as well as a holding place. And oh boy, was there a history for the bell.

            I never thought I would ever be so fascinated by one bell’s history, but here I was, being more drawn to it than any other object.

            I was quickly reminded of the Treasures Exhibit within the NYC Public Library. How every object, no matter how seemingly insignificant or small, held so much importance to a person or group.

            And that was what the Liberty Bell was.

            Apparently, it had only been rung a few times due to the structure and material of the bell, but its symbolism held much more importance than its sound. Every moment, every advocate, and any world-changing moments was linked to this bell. It came off as being in its mere presence was enough drive to keep going, to keep fighting for what was right, even when the odds were completely stacked against you.

            And as I got to the last part of the building, I felt that presence.

            At first glance, the bell could be that – a bell. But something in me shifted as I stood in front of it. All those histories, all those stories, all those victories… Hearing, learning, about it all, you don’t actually fully believe it until you see it. Until you feel its magnetic energy pulling at you, pushing you and filling you up with such a drive, with such a passion, that you feel like you can make the changes that so many other people did when they stood in the Liberty Bell’s presence.

            But, as I strolled around it, goosebumps rising on my skin (which was probably from the cool air conditioning to persevere the bell), I couldn’t help but wonder – what was my bell?

            We all have our own version of a Liberty Bell, right? Something that keeps us going, that keeps us pushing against the limitations – that keeps inspiring us to change. What is our own Liberty Bell?

            What was my Liberty Bell?

            And, right now, I couldn’t think of one.

***

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