This blog is a personal diary, and the content shared here is based on my own experiences, thoughts, and opinions. I am not a professional in any field, and the information provided on this blog is for informational and entertainment purposes only.
I do my best to ensure the accuracy and validity of the content I share, but I cannot guarantee the completeness or timeliness of the information. The content may evolve and change over time as I continue to learn and grow.
Please keep in mind that any advice, tips, or recommendations I provide are based on my personal experiences and should not be considered as professional advice. Before making any decisions or taking actions based on the content of this blog, I recommend consulting with qualified professionals or experts in the relevant field.
I am not responsible for any consequences that may arise from following the information provided on this blog. However, I will do my best to ensure any sensitive topics will be warned prior to each post. Your use of this blog and its content is at your own discretion and risk.
I value respectful and constructive discussions, so I welcome comments and feedback. However, I reserve the right to moderate and remove comments that are offensive, spammy, or violate the blog’s policies.
By accessing and using this blog, you agree to abide by this disclaimer and all applicable laws and regulations.
The storm continued into Tuesday, and we newbie camp workers were prepared for it this time. So the day felt a little less hectic for everyone. For me? The peace of the storm continued to have its effect on me. So much so that I was disappointed when we had to close the door to my group’s bunk – to make sure no more rain could get in.
The only downside to all of this was how soaked my shoes were.
‘Eeewww…’ The bright voice exclaimed as feet swam in my wet shoes. ‘Add that to the list of things we completely dislike.’
‘And borderline hate.’
Once the storm had passed, the rest of the week went relatively smoothly. Work was good, I was good, and everything else was fine. There was a buzz of excitement going around, though, because we were all going to a baseball game this upcoming Saturday that the camp we worked at had paid for.
It would be interesting to experience an American baseball game – or, more specifically, a Mets baseball game.
A few people, including myself, were disappointed not to be going to a Yankees game, but this wasn’t vocalised too much, mainly because we were happy to experience any baseball game.
However, since the game would be later in the evening, I decided to plan out my Saturday and booked a ticket to the 9/11 Memorial Museum.
I had been there once before, the fifteen-year-old Rose exploring New York City with her drama classmates. It was different, though, back then. The memorial was still in the process of being built, and the museum was just a stand-in by that point. It took about half an hour to get through, but that didn’t make it any less powerful.
I was curious about what they’ve done with the museum now. Several people had told me it was beautiful and would take a few hours to get through, so naturally, I needed to see it for myself.
‘Naturally.’ In the back of my mind, I could feel the responsible voice smirking.
***
The week had been an exhaustingly good one. Though, it all came to a halt when I did my neck in.
“Fuck me,” I mumbled under my breath as I followed all the girls back to our destinated bunk.
“Are you okay?” one of the camp workers, Tish, asked me, seeing my struggle as I massaged the back of my shoulder/neck.
“If I ever decide to go down another inflatable slide to entertain a bunch of kids, you have my direct permission to shoot me.”
Tish snorted. “That bad?”
“It wouldn’t be without my previous neck injuries ten months ago.” Tish raised an eyebrow at me, and I went on to give a quick summary. “Whilst on shift at my previous job, my bike slipped on ice, and I sprained my neck. Then, just as I was recovering from that, on shift again two weeks later, my bike peddle snapped off, and I ended up straining my neck.”
“Crap.” Tish’s eyes flashed with concern then as I continued to rub my neck. “You gunna be okay?”
“Fingers crossed.” I presented the words physically, leading to Tish to give a small laugh at. “Though, I really do have the worst luck when it comes to neck injuries.”
‘You have the worst luck when it comes to any injuries.’
This blog is a personal diary, and the content shared here is based on my own experiences, thoughts, and opinions. I am not a professional in any field, and the information provided on this blog is for informational and entertainment purposes only.
I do my best to ensure the accuracy and validity of the content I share, but I cannot guarantee the completeness or timeliness of the information. The content may evolve and change over time as I continue to learn and grow.
Please keep in mind that any advice, tips, or recommendations I provide are based on my personal experiences and should not be considered as professional advice. Before making any decisions or taking actions based on the content of this blog, I recommend consulting with qualified professionals or experts in the relevant field.
I am not responsible for any consequences that may arise from following the information provided on this blog. However, I will do my best to ensure any sensitive topics will be warned prior to each post. Your use of this blog and its content is at your own discretion and risk.
I value respectful and constructive discussions, so I welcome comments and feedback. However, I reserve the right to moderate and remove comments that are offensive, spammy, or violate the blog’s policies.
By accessing and using this blog, you agree to abide by this disclaimer and all applicable laws and regulations.
When I returned to the university campus, I learned that some people who went to Philadelphia for the day didn’t get back until midnight or even the early hours of the morning. This meant they’d be hella tired for Monday’s workday.
I’m super-duper glad I went for the weekend now.
When Monday morning rolled around, and we were all gathered under the camp tents for breakfast, I stopped by the few that returned so late and asked them how Philadelphia was for them.
“It was alright.” One of them said.
“Not much to see.” Said another.
My jaw hit the ground so hard that there was probably a dent. “What are you on about? It was amazing!”
It didn’t take me long to figure out and understand that they not only didn’t do half the things I experienced in Philadelphia (which, fair, they were only there for the day), but they probably didn’t have any of the emotional revelations as I did.
(Which, fair, again.)
As we ate breakfast and chatted amongst themselves (me mainly keeping to myself), dark clouds covered the sky above us, getting ready to bombard us with a wet day.
***
What seemed to be a dizzily day turned into a full-on storm. It was a hectic day. Classes cancelled. Children screaming and running through the rain. Soaked shoes. And trying to take control and entertain a large number of bored children. It was seemingly hard to take any enjoyment from today, but that was exactly what I did.
I made jokes with the kids and laughed a little as they screamed when the thunder started. I ran around with them in the hall where we took shelter in. I danced around with them as music played and genuinely enjoyed myself.
Plus, the storm… It was really calming. Soothing. I felt so much more like myself as the storm raged outside.
It was like the physical world was matching my soul. It was wild, loud, and had no care in the world, as it let everyone know of its presence.
Everyone else was seemingly enjoying the storm, too, as all the other internationals messed around while I was at after-care. Some collect the rain in buckets and tip down on each other, and others go to play in the children’s park. One of them hurt their back as they went down the slide.
As lightning and thunder cracked through the sky, I was reminded of the beautiful scene that was presented to me at the Lincoln Memorial, where even the most hectic events made a moment ever more treasured.
Despite all those times I hated the rain when at work back in the UK, the rain here was… freeing. It was comfortable.
Or maybe I was getting comfortable in the skin that was now completely soaked.
This blog is a personal diary, and the content shared here is based on my own experiences, thoughts, and opinions. I am not a professional in any field, and the information provided on this blog is for informational and entertainment purposes only.
I do my best to ensure the accuracy and validity of the content I share, but I cannot guarantee the completeness or timeliness of the information. The content may evolve and change over time as I continue to learn and grow.
Please keep in mind that any advice, tips, or recommendations I provide are based on my personal experiences and should not be considered as professional advice. Before making any decisions or taking actions based on the content of this blog, I recommend consulting with qualified professionals or experts in the relevant field.
I am not responsible for any consequences that may arise from following the information provided on this blog. However, I will do my best to ensure any sensitive topics will be warned prior to each post. Your use of this blog and its content is at your own discretion and risk.
I value respectful and constructive discussions, so I welcome comments and feedback. However, I reserve the right to moderate and remove comments that are offensive, spammy, or violate the blog’s policies.
By accessing and using this blog, you agree to abide by this disclaimer and all applicable laws and regulations.
Thank you for visiting and reading my blog. I hope you find it interesting and enjoyable.
It took me a good ten minutes to put on the rollerblades, put my items into a locker, and slowly make my way.
Okay, I officially think these rollerblades are a bit too small, I thought as I attempted to wiggle my toes inside them. Despite this, though, I decided against getting a new pair—as I had limited time to do this, and I didn’t want to spend it trying to find the right shoes for this experience.
So, embracing the little bit of foot pain, I made my way onto the rink.
“Bloody hell,” I breathed out, my feet unstable enough that I had to reach and cling to the barriers around the rink. “Okay, maybe this is another thing to put on the list of bad choices.” That fleeting comment seemed to ignite stubborn motivation as I pushed onwards.
I lost count of how many times I fell. Whether backwards on my ass or forwards on my knees, each fall got more and more painful. And in response, I couldn’t stop laughing. And not even in my usual high, uneven pitch. It was a stomach-crunching, bone-wired laughter. Something that was an unstoppable force that couldn’t – and shouldn’t – be contained.
It mirrored something that a younger, naïve and purely gold-haired version of myself held once upon a time.
A laugh that sang of childhood happiness.
‘Up! Up! Up!’ The bright voice vibrated when I fell on my ass once more. ‘UP! UP! UP!’
Continuing to laugh, I managed to pull myself up and rollerblade onwards.
As I began to feel more confident about it, I raised my head more, taking in the scene before me. I saw adults and children within the rink—the children holding more confidence than any of us adults and the adults trying to match that confidence but failing miserably. But there was nothing bad, nothing negative, no cons. It was just… joyfulness—a childlike joyfulness that I had long forgotten what it felt like.
A joyfulness that you didn’t care what people thought about you or how ridiculous you appear. The childhood joyfulness of innocence.
As I stumbled once more, I couldn’t believe where I was—that I was in America, in Philadelphia, rollerblading. All those childhood daydreams that helped me escape the prison of my upbringing suddenly became a reality.
When that realization hit me, it opened the floodgates to all these wavering emotions, and I burst out into more laughter.
‘Knew you could do it!’
***
I spent a bit longer on the rollerblade rink than I should’ve, but it was well worth the hurry afterwards and the already forming bruises.
Despite my extremely limited time, I managed to get food and drink from a nearby Starbucks for the bus journey.
Ten minutes before it’s supposed to take off, it is not even at the station yet.
So, was all the hurry for nothing?
Once the bus arrived and I was able to get on board, I felt a wave of sadness hit me. I had such a good time in Philadelphia that I didn’t want to leave yet. There was so much to still do here as well—the Museum of Art, Rodin Museum… I didn’t have the time to do it all, and the disappointment in that fact was deflating.
Next time.
I smiled at the promise I made as the bus kicked into gear and began its hourly journey to NYC.
***
The journey back to NYC from Philadelphia was a lot less hectic and time-consuming than the journey from Washington, D.C. However, that was surprising because as soon as I hit the streets of NYC from the bus station, it was such a crowded time that it rivalled the Independence Weekend.
It was so busy that I had one anxious thought shouting through my brain.
I’m gunna get robbed.
I probably looked like a madwoman – pretty much sprinting all the way to Grand Central. But the crowds were freaking me out, and I needed to get out of the heart of it. And just like I thought and hoped, the crowds lessened the closer I got to Grand Central.
“Thank god…” I breathed out a few steps into Grand Central, bending slightly and my hands clasped against my knees.
‘On the bright side! You’re now getting so familiar with the New York City streets that you hardly looked at the ever-trusting Google Maps.’
Hurrah for small victories.
***
Despite the fact that it was so busy in the heart of NYC and, thus, would make Grand Central much less busy, I was surprised to find how much less busy it was. Well, it was still busy, but not as busy as the first weekend I came to NYC and certainly not as busy as Times Square.
With this, when I needed to get the train to Pleasantville, I got a slice of pizza and a drink from the canteen area of Grand Central.
As I ate, I was transported to a younger version of myself. Fifteen-year-old Rose, stuffing down a similar slice of pizza, taking in the mass beauty of Grand Central for the first time, and pointing out all the unique elements to Cornelia. Laughing and joking around with other kids as the teachers tried to speed up the eating process.
Smiling uncharacteristically widely, I threw my rubbish in the nearest bin and made my way to the train, which was patiently awaiting all its passengers. Once seated and music blaring in my ears, the train took off for Pleasantville.
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.
