I’m leaving Portland Oregon Heres Why
My experience in Rose City and a few reasons why it's not for me.
I fell in love with Oregon when I was 14, from the backseat of my aunt’s tiny car, which was stuffed to the brim with other family members. The mist hanging on the tall pines seemed magical. My shoulders relaxed, and the air soothed my lungs.
I decided I was moving to Portland on that trip, but the city was different then, so was I. My 14-year-old brain couldn’t understand the realities of life and how hard it could be. I didn’t comprehend what booms of migration to a city that was never meant to be big could cause. I didn’t know what addiction could do to a person; I couldn’t grasp the reality of the homelessness epidemic.
All I saw was the accepting culture, somewhere I would be safe to come out-the promise of something better than my small town. But now, after living in the place I glamourized, I feel a pull to write about it. I’m moving, and I want to take a second to reflect on why, and I guess oddly, what could have been.
