These days, I have two
homes: Round Lake and Peoria, Illinois. Round Lake is my hometown that is the
largest of the surrounding small villages. The smaller villages nearby stretch
only a few roads whereas others take about a five- to ten-minute drive to make
it through them. This is where I’ve grown up since I was only nine years old.
Back then I was only a child, where laughter with friends was the only agenda
of mine. When I visit home now I am always out and about running errands. I
live in a suburban area, where in some parts there are cookie cutter homes in
every direction and some areas where homes are more run down as the village has
not taken over the upbringing of that section yet. My hometown is currently in
the process of updating the shopping centers of the nearby towns, so as we
drive to the brand new Meijer on Rollins Road to stock up on groceries we hear
many jackhammers breaking up concrete and see all of the yellow vests of the construction
workers that power those tools. This road used to be four lanes, but with all
of the work going on it usually goes down to two depending on where the work is
being done. Though there is plenty of hustle and bustle, the roads never seem
to be congested, rather just a steady flow of sedans, SUVs, and Ford pick-ups
wherever you look.
Peoria,
however, is way out of my comfort zone. Moving here for school means hearing
the roaring of cars on War Memorial at a constant as I try to study my
mountains of books in my apartment. Driving is much different in this city as
the roads I see are always full of life with city drivers that speed like a
road runner to get to their destination or coasters that are truly in no hurry
to get a move on to arrive to theirs. I hear car horns so often that if I had a
nickel for every time I heard one, I could possibly pay off my college tuition.
The smell of yeast throughout the town is quite the way to wake me up early in
the morning. Even with the busy city life, I still managed to find my home in a
quaint area that I can still hear the birds chirping that reminds me of the
coziness of my hometown.
I
have had the best of both worlds by living in my comfortable suburban village
and experiencing the busy, fast-paced nature of the city, but neither will
compare to New Orleans. I have been to New Orleans before and only for a day.
In that one day, I was amazed at the efficiency of such a busy city. Wherever I
looked I could see the habitants moving at a speed walking pace yet so
effortlessly weaving in between each other as if they practiced this stunt
before my arrival. Every building had its own unique architecture, as well as
its own distinct smell. As I passed the red building, a souvenir shop, I could
smell incense burning into the busy French Quarter, but there was also the
smell of Cajun gumbo mixing with it as there was a native cuisine restaurant above.
If there was a kiosk where there seemed to be rays of light drawing me to the
powder sprinkled, freshly fried beignets, there was no way of stopping the overwhelming
watering of my mouth unless I had at least three. This was two years ago. I am
more than eager to get back to such an astounding area full of the nicest
people I have ever met, where everyone uses “sir” and “ma’am” out of instinct.
With some of my family being from Louisiana, it makes me more comfortable to be
around those people that are more friendly than a puppy. The trip is coming up
fast and I cannot wait to compare and contrast all of the areas I have lived to
the city of New Orleans as well as gain new sensory experiences there.
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