Beginning
Monday
February 6, 2017 - the beginning of a new year, the beginning of a new semester
and the beginning of Journalism 101. I'm sitting here in a white square
classroom with horrible grass green doors and hospital-like ceiling lamps,
watching the rain drops make their way down the big windows overlooking the
school courtyard.
Surrounding
me are thirty students, possibly just as confused as I am, as to what to write
for our first task - the blog. The monotone sound of keyboard-typing
fills the room. I peak from above my computer screen and scan the room,
my eyes falling upon blue, green, pink and white squares of my new classmates'
blog designs. Slowly, my mind wonders off trying to figure out what I
want to base my new blog on. Should I focus on one specific theme, or should I
continue writing whatever comes to mind?
My
major is photography and my background is socialist (I guess). I have for
the past 24 years lived a very diverse life, being greatly exposed to cultures
and lifestyles from all corners of the world, and moving to Los Angeles has
truly proven to be one of the epicentres of diverse cultures on this planet.
Walking down the streets of Los Angeles' downtown area, the harsh reality
of a broken system hits me like a rock. The streets are flooded with the
homeless and the crazy. Los Angeles has all of three smells: Trash, weed
and cheap perfume, which many people seem to use as a substitute for clean
clothes.
The
"city of angels" should be renamed the "city of egocentric
people"; the city in which no one seems to give a shit what happens to the
environment. The city in which people apparently happily live amongst
rats and cockroaches. Yes, rats and cockroaches, both a regular sight for
me, while making my way from the Grand Central Market to the corner of Pershing
Square Station to catch a late metro home, with the rest of the hardworking
Americans who don't own cars.
The
metro is always an adventure - not always an enjoyable one. The metro
seems old, screeching as it leaves the station. The smell is not a
pleasant one. On a good day the metro will simply smell of old trapped
air - usually though, the stench of piss, vomit and sweat fills the air.
The noise of some shitty gangster rap from some punk's cheap speaker
often fills the room, drowning out my own music. Have Angelinos not heard
of headphones? And privacy?
Then
there are the crazy people who have heated debates with imaginary people.
Or themselves. It's hard to tell. At first sight it seems
funny, but in reality there's nothing funny about the situation at all. The
person is sick and should be receiving help, but not here. Not in the city of
angels. Not in the land of the free. In God's own country.
Here, a mental institution is for the person who can afford it, not the
actual sick people on the street with nothing but the dirty rags they are
covered in.
Everywhere
I go, I see signs of a broken system. It maddens me and it saddens me!
It
has now been a few days since I wrote my first sentence of this blog. I
am no longer sitting in the white square classroom with the horrible grass
green doors- but the rain drops are still making their way down the big
windows, now overlooking my apartment's dark yard.
I
guess I know what to base my blog on now...