Oh, Boston. You’ve been kind. Ish.
As I type this essay, I look around the floor of my partner’s and my studio apartment and see four years of memories reduced to a disarray of boxes. It’s quite a bittersweet feeling, seeing all of my work, contained in various SD cards, hard drives, folders, and notebooks, sprawled out in front of me. This nostalgia drives me to recall all of the memories this great city of Boston has given me.
Those memories are fantastical and they are terrible, falling everywhere on the spectrum, all working to weave together the person, woman, and professional I am today. From assistance with—and perhaps causation of, one could argue—multiple mental and physical health diagnoses, to my widened view of the world through films, books, and museums I wouldn’t have found anywhere else, the city of Boston and the community I’ve found here are irreplaceable. For better and for worse.
As Instagram user @myles.toe says, in the caption of a video that describes Boston more perfectly than I ever could, “Boston isn’t a city. It’s a chaotic museum where the exhibits drive, yell, and suplex each other in the park.”
The cop slide. The infamous ‘10 miles west of Boston’ from The Last of Us. Zendaya filming multiple movies (Challengers and The Drama, which also stars Robert Pattinson). Keytar Bear’s resurgence. Any train catching on fire at literally any moment (I’m looking at you, Green Line). These are all moments that have happened since I arrived in the city in September 2021, all of which have become entwined in the city’s culture. These, along with the city’s patriotic history and mainstream culture, are the things that make Boston, Boston. Who would we even be without Keytar Bear?
With all of that said, no city is without its faults. Especially Boston. While we are grateful for its status as “the safest major city” (at least at Mayor Michelle Wu’s insistence), it can feel impossible to walk alone as a woman, day or night, in the area where Emerson lies. I often find myself wearing big coats and completely sexless clothing as much as possible to minimize men making comments at or following me.
Rent is through the roof—near the Emerson campus, a studio apartment can cost $2,450/month plus utilities. The T is constantly down, whether that means the trains themselves or escalators and elevators for accessibility. Not to mention, if the T is down, and you don’t live downtown or wherever you need to go, you’ll need to either walk an hour or pay for a surge-priced Uber (I’ve personally seen them go as high as $70, without fees, from Logan Airport to Emerson).
Everything is expensive, not just rent. Groceries, entertainment, the train, community services. For two people to see a movie at the AMC, it can cost around $50, give or take, depending on the screen and concessions. A membership at the Y costs $40-$85 to even join in some areas, with a monthly membership costing anywhere from $40-$90, depending on age and interests.
The city’s income is skewed rich because of places like Seaport, gentrified spaces that are for the rich by the rich. And if you live in a place like Allston, you need to have three or more roommates to make ends meet. People don’t establish themselves in Boston anymore. They can’t afford it (I know I certainly can’t, especially not with Emerson loans following me). Whether we’re heading into a recession or not, Boston prices will only continue to skyrocket. I just hope the community and incoming students will be able to keep up with them.
There are pieces of this city I will carry with me forever, like my unnecessary patriotism whenever anyone threatens or belittles it, my love for the Public Garden and tulip and daffodil season (shoutout to The Original Boston Frosty, the best ice cream in the city), and my boy Jarren Duran (I directed him on a panel about mental health, a few days before he was called up to the Red Sox, so we’re practically best friends).
There are pieces of this city I will repress as quickly as possible, like the man I have dubbed “The Tremont Screamer,” whom I have never met but simply heard his blood curdling sharp shouts of expletives at six-thirty in the morning before my morning commute, and the unknown, odorous liquids in the street one can only describe as “city soup.”
Boston, I wish I didn’t have to go, but I am so, so excited to leave.