Two thousand, three hundred and ninety six miles away, lies a faraway place no other than Seattle, Washington, a predominately wet and rainy destination, in which the sun rarely shines through the grey, dreary clouds above. I stepped out of the dark blue rental car and took my first step in which my black Steve Madden shoes contrasted against the light grey cobblestone roads. Almost instantly, my eyes wandered everywhere, attempting to familiarize this foreign place. On this rare occasion, the sun seeped through the haze of clouds, engulfing me in the warmth from the scattered rays.

Amidst the invigorating sunshine, the streets of Seattle were lively; various colors were bursting from every perspective. Little shops and popular boutiques lined the streets of the famous Pike Place market. People were dispersed inconsiderately in lines to get into overcrowded shops that seemed overrated until I understood the hype. Aromas of all kinds filled the air. One minute I smelled fresh baked pastries from Le Panier, and at the same time I would be overwhelmed by the scent of fish from the market across the street. As I looked closely, I could see tourists swarming large stacks of freshly caught seafood as fish were being thrown vigorously between employees. The peculiar tradition of the infamous act of the flying fish was more popular than one would expect. Behind the noise of cheers from the flying fish, I could hear faint and subtle tunes from songs I could not recognize. Although my distraction caused by the commotion almost caused them to go unnoticed, I gazed upon several street performers that were fixated on the strings of their guitars. I listened as their original song lyrics rolled off of their tongues smoothly. Each person in Seattle had their own story, and each story was like no other. Despite my unfamiliarity of this new location, I was able to accept its unique atmosphere.

Every direction and every place that I had not yet visited was a new adventure, waiting to be uncovered by my curious fourteen-year-old self. The Seattle gum wall was a level below where I had witnessed the flying fish in action, and more importantly, where I had truly discovered the individuality and creativity of Seattle. Observing the dark alley lined with gum, I could only imagine the stories each piece of gum held. There were wads of freshly chewed, sticky gum layered on top of the colorless, old moldy pieces. I watched passers-by stop for a quick second, stick their gum on the wall, and walk away nonchalantly. I decided to contribute to this strangely intriguing tradition, leaving a piece of me, and my legacy in Seattle. However, I knew that it would soon be covered by other pieces, and my trip would go unnoticed.
As I neared the park, the atmosphere changed drastically, and it was then that I had finally opened my eyes to the real world. I sat on the green grass in the middle of the park as I watched people do as they pleased. There were con artists scavenging for money, protesters hoping for attention, and drug addicts pursuing a high for a feeling of satisfaction and content with the reality of their poverty. Adjacent to the park, was a five star restaurant with windows larger than necessary. Right outside of the windows sat a crowd of all ages, including teenagers that carelessly passed around the drugs they owned as if it were normal. However, I found it odd how one could allow them to bury their sorrows in these substances over and over again without taking action. I payed attention to the details, and I could see the desperation on their faces and the minimal hope they had for a better day. This place that seemed so gracious and spontaneous blinded me from reality at first, but I too derived sorrow and depression from the suddenly gloomy atmosphere. But even in the darkest places, beauty can always be found.

Everyone in Seattle was different. The people were gay and straight, black and white, successful and unemployed; Seattle did not discriminate. Some people were politicians, some were artists, and others were attempting to find the beauty in this world such as I. I returned to the same spot every day of my stay in Seattle, and continually saw the con artists depriving customers of their well earned money, protesters preaching their views against people who resided in their community, and drug addicts ensuring hope into the substances that were slowly killing them. Their lifestyles were so unfamiliar, and rarely did they ever stray from their repetitious agenda. I had been secluded in a town where bad things happened in the shadows, which made me question the life I had been living, and if it were real.

Throughout my stay in Seattle, I was continuously exposed to things that I had always feared. I saw the drugs, violence, and hatred that I had always heard about, but never actually experienced. I saw all the things that I have always been told to avoid, the things I have been taught to hide from. But there was no hiding from the truth; the truth that the world is more brutal than any naïve individual would perceive it to be. My innocence was stripped away slowly and yet all at once. My sudden maturity allowed me to embrace the change in my reality. And even though I saw things that I wish were not real, I experienced beauty in the purest form. I saw the harmony created by different types of people coming together and being whoever they wanted to be with acceptance from those around them. I saw every person with a different story and meaning. I experienced and admired culture, art, music, individuality, and inspiration. Despite all of the horrible truths of this world that I had to accept, I was able to find beauty in new things that were simply dull before. So although my trip to Seattle uncovered a dark reality, I would not trade it for the innocence that blinded me from the truth. Two thousand, three hundred and ninety six miles away, is now my reality.