It’s a metaphor for my college experience thus far. (Though I have never been hit by a car in 17th St Market.) In theory, if you take out all the direct references to the market, you’ll get what I think of school as of now.
You go to a place like this without a list. You wander the isles, mispronouncing the names on the labels and smelling different teas. Who knows what you’re there for; you’re kind of hoping that it will jump out and punch you in the face before you have to leave.
You turn your head sideways, but a Lotus root is still the oddest looking vegetable you’ve ever seen. And because of the nature of the place that you’re in, odd isn’t bad anymore.
Brand new treasures are all over the place; delectable treats like Mochi and two full isles of noodles. It’s very easy to get fat here.
There are somethings that taste just as bad as they look, and even have nasty little black pellets inside of them. Take note of your friends horrified face and avoid at all costs.
You learn new things in here. Not just how many variations of gourds there are, but you learn things about the people who pick them up or walk straight by without a glance. You learn things about the people who stop to try the mustard chips and the people who just buy a Hershey’s chocolate bar because it’s familiar. You learn things about the people who ask questions and the people who pretend they already know. You learn about what types of risks people are and aren’t afraid to take.
It’s a fascinating place. I guess I’ll stick around for a while.
