Lost Little Toledoan
In Toledo, I knew my place; it was my community, and despite its flaws, I was rather fond of it. But in Ann Arbor, with its anxiety-inducing unknown, I could see myself only as the new girl whose name no one knew, the girl who had lost her place.
My first couple weeks were a mixture of highs and lows. I made friends quickly and figured out my way around campus without much of a problem. Once off campus, though, I transformed into a lost little Toledoan, confused by the unfamiliar streets and businesses.
I searched for a street that would allow me to slip into the flow of people and not feel like a stranger. It didn't take long.
An astounding amount of sound hit me as I stepped onto Main Street. A snippet of Arabic floated by as a Middle Eastern family browsed the storefronts, drawn in by the tinkling music coming from one shop's open doors. Hushed voices came from the perfectly tailored businessmen as they hurried past. A few melancholy notes drifted down from a lone cardinal perched on a tree above. The traffic produced a never-ending symphony of murmuring hybrids, rumbling trucks, loud motorcycles, and rattling buses. It was busy and chaotic, and it reminded me of home.