We Are Where We Are
I was raised in the last house on a cul-de-sac in the middle of the Floridian suburbs. The cookie-cutter structures were identical to the next, so similar that I could walk into my friends' homes and find their garlic salt. Suburban sameness never suited me; I was the classic I-hate-this-town teenager, and I couldn’t wait to leave.
And then came college. I graduated in May and wasted no time in getting the hell out, moving to Gainesville in a matter of weeks.
It took no time at all for me to fall in love with this weird-ass town, and after two years, my love has only deepened. I was drawn to the University of Florida, the prestigious fusion of Public Ivy and SEC Party School. But it was Gainesville itself that truly captured me.
Some Sunday mornings, as members of the collegiate world sleep off their Saturday hangovers, I wake up and go for a drive. (Of course, I am also hungover. I just wake up early.) My drives are aimless but purposeful, traipsing through Gainesville side streets admiring the houses. They’re so different from the recycled designs of my hometown. Some have circular windows, others are an obscure mixture of brick and metal sheets. Victorian homes sit next to amalgamated shipping container stacks, and I marvel at the personality reflected in the roads.