Welcome to Suburbia
As soon as you open the oor to our apartment, our very own Greeting Goblin welcomes you. I am not sure why we have a statue of a goblin in the stairwell, but whatever. The 1st floor apartment is home to a Filipino lady, Tita Remy, who actually owns the building. She is a nurse who lives by herself, sending money to her nephews and neices back home every now and then.
You climb up the stairs to get to our place. You have to leave your shoes outside, because Mom is a neat freak. The anteroom displays Mom's nameless siamese fighting fish. Every now and then, Mom reminds us to address it as our sister.
In the living room, there is a window nook where Mom keeps a collection of potted plants. Some are herbs. She was somewhat inspired by my work. We would like to think we could grow our own herbs.
It's a spacious two-bedroom apartment, and I keep wondering every now and then how we are able to afford such a huge place. Well, it may be small for most American's, but it's already kind of huge for me.
The kitchen/dining area is disappointingly small, but then, Mom doesn't do much cooking. I remember my first breakfast here. It was a deceptively cheerful breakfast of biscuits, eggs and bacon.
Going down through the back door, you see our shared backyard, where we rarely go anyway. It's quite sad. Backyars are to hang out on.
We have a creepy basement where we do the laundry. It's my first time to encounter a basement, and I find it scary indeed. Well, moving back outside.
Campbell Street is a small, quiet street lined with two-storey apartments that look almost exactly the same. Cars are parked on either side pretty much all day, so it's hard to find parking. It's a pretty quiet neighborhood, no crime or gang wars or whatever, and the neighbors don't mind each other.
We live on the northern edge of Chicago, and we're almost in the suburbs. Our Lincoln Ave Home Depot branch is close to the border of Lincolnwood, a small, quiet suburb where a lot of Hasidic Jewish people live. It's a less than 10-minute drive to work, depending on traffic.
I have one more month as a temporary worker here, although they might keep me longer. I'll have to think about it, though. My shift usually ends around 11pm, after which I go home. After parking, I walk along Campbell Ave to our house. It's quiet, except for the Mexicans sitting outside on their porches, having a cerveza or five. I unlock the door, open it, let myself in, and close it.
You climb up the stairs to get to our place. You have to leave your shoes outside, because Mom is a neat freak. The anteroom displays Mom's nameless siamese fighting fish. Every now and then, Mom reminds us to address it as our sister.
In the living room, there is a window nook where Mom keeps a collection of potted plants. Some are herbs. She was somewhat inspired by my work. We would like to think we could grow our own herbs.
It's a spacious two-bedroom apartment, and I keep wondering every now and then how we are able to afford such a huge place. Well, it may be small for most American's, but it's already kind of huge for me.
The kitchen/dining area is disappointingly small, but then, Mom doesn't do much cooking. I remember my first breakfast here. It was a deceptively cheerful breakfast of biscuits, eggs and bacon.
Going down through the back door, you see our shared backyard, where we rarely go anyway. It's quite sad. Backyars are to hang out on.
We have a creepy basement where we do the laundry. It's my first time to encounter a basement, and I find it scary indeed. Well, moving back outside.
Campbell Street is a small, quiet street lined with two-storey apartments that look almost exactly the same. Cars are parked on either side pretty much all day, so it's hard to find parking. It's a pretty quiet neighborhood, no crime or gang wars or whatever, and the neighbors don't mind each other.
We live on the northern edge of Chicago, and we're almost in the suburbs. Our Lincoln Ave Home Depot branch is close to the border of Lincolnwood, a small, quiet suburb where a lot of Hasidic Jewish people live. It's a less than 10-minute drive to work, depending on traffic.
I have one more month as a temporary worker here, although they might keep me longer. I'll have to think about it, though. My shift usually ends around 11pm, after which I go home. After parking, I walk along Campbell Ave to our house. It's quiet, except for the Mexicans sitting outside on their porches, having a cerveza or five. I unlock the door, open it, let myself in, and close it.