The youth are only one aspect of Philadelphia’s growing problem in violence. A week ago, a cab driver from Germantown was shot in broad daylight and killed. Public transit stories have also resulted in bloodshed. On March 28th, Sean Conroy, 36, died following a confrontation with a group of teens at the Septa Market Frankford stop. His attackers mercilessly punched him until he was knocked unconscious. Later, when police pronounced him dead, they discovered he only had $36 in his wallet. The violence in Philadelphia has brought the city nicknamed the City of Brotherly Love down to its knees. For the visitors and workers that commute to Philadelphia on a daily or even weekly basis, the potential for violence has left people to wonder…when will it change? 

What can we do to fix the problem? Residents of Philadelphia blame the problem on the youth. The number of dropouts in Philadelphia has been rising steadily, and residents fear the youth who loiter. And no one says what they’re really thinking. Does he want to attack me?  The community of Philadelphia used to be a friendly one. The sirens wail, throughout the day and night, and the sound is so familiar, so commonplace in this city, that no one reacts.

Sometimes, we need a reaction.

Stacy Lipson

I finally did it. I lost 30 pounds, and for the first time in my life I could wear skinny jeans and crop tops. I had been working for what felt like an eternity to become a person who could feel comfortable doing normal things like swimming or running. I would no longer have to hide bulging thighs and I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed about eating in public. I felt strong and powerful, so then why wasn’t I happy? Everything I read told me that eating healthy and exercising would give me more energy and passion for life. The experts couldn’t all be wrong. So I kept wondering, was there something wrong with me?

My body felt good, really good, like I had burned off all of the toxins that had built up over years and years of being overweight. But I wasn’t happy with the person I had become, with the life that I was now living. Nothing about it gave me energy or passion. Those bland vegetable dinners that I cooked for myself each night began to make my eye twitch, and the growling that rumbled from my stomach in the morning told me of that something was missing.

After many months of diligently rationing and portioning my food, my mind suddenly slowed. It was clogged by way too many rules and not enough living. There was no longer room for any thoughts that weren’t based on calories and nutritional value, and all of a sudden, a strange sense of calm overcame me. I found myself placing a small piece of dairy-free, sugar-free chocolate onto my tongue. Oh it tasted so good, but it felt so bad. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted the old me back.

A million bites later, I am a woman who can’t wear skinny jeans. I am a woman who eats dessert, a woman who likes avocados, nuts, and other healthy, fattening foods, but this time I like myself, too. My body treats me well, so I try to go easy on her. I give her what she craves, and more often than not, I find myself voluntarily feeding her large quantities of fruits and veggies. After all that I have put her through, I finally trust that my body knows what she is doing.

As my weight anniversary comes and goes and I realize that I have put back on the 30 pounds that I lost, I feel like I have gained a lot more in the last three years than just weight. I have gained freedom and balance. My healthy habits stuck with me, but now I actually enjoy playing a game of tennis or riding my bike to the grocery store. My vegetable dinners are sweet and filling, and they don’t make me cringe because I can choose not to eat them. It only took 30 pounds both coming and going to show me that I liked who I was all along.

You can find more personal narratives by Chiki Davis at scratchandburn.com.

Chiki Sites Davis

I was riding the 1 train downtown when I spotted a familiar face across the aisle.

He had that air of someone you vaguely remember but haven’t seen in ages. I scanned all of the places I could have met a partially bald, slight man with salt-and-pepper beard: work, coffee shop, library.

Then a name popped into my head. Barry. Barry Lewis! Not exactly an A-list celebrity, I know, but in New York he’s well known for his PBS series, “A Walk Around…” As in “A Walk Around Brooklyn” or “A Walk Around Harlem.” He takes you to places of interest and gives you nuggets of social, political and architectural history with such enthusiasm, I dare you to turn the program off. And here he was on the same train.

I have spotted a few honest-to-God celebrities while riding the subway. Michael Imperioli of The Sopranos and Steve Buscemi come to mind. Steve Buscemi has, shall we say, such a unique look about him that you’re not left wondering if that was really him or just his doppelganger. Because the more I looked (okay, stared) at Barry Lewis, the more I doubted my first judgment.

(My best celebrity sighting hands down was Harrison Ford in the Village. He was heading east on Houston; I was heading west. I turned to search for him in the crowd but he was gone. Like two ships passing in the night. Oh, Han!)

When I got off the train at Chambers to transfer to the 2/3 heading to Brooklyn, Barry stayed on the 1, which terminates in a few stops at South Ferry. Now I truly second-guessed myself. He’s going to Staten Island? That seems crazy.

Robert Lanham has a funny essay in The Subway Chronicles book called Straphanger Doppelganger in which he seeks out his look-alike after numerous friends have mistaken his doppelganger for him. Lanham points out, “According to mythology, a doppelganger is the living incarnation of a person’s dark side. Their shadowy opposite.” Maybe this person who sat across from me was Barry Lewis’s double: a Staten Island-bound, insurance adjuster who didn’t know or care about the difference between Central Park and Bryant Park. Lanham goes on to say that coming to terms with the existence of our nonbiological twin is part of living in New York. In a city this size, everyone is bound to have one.

As if to prove the truth in that statement, today I sat next to an elderly black woman on the commute to work. I might not have noticed her except that she scooted over and motioned for me to sit. She had a calmness and elegance that reminded me of my high school English teacher, Mrs. Sutton. Everything about Mrs. Sutton was grace personified. Her reputation was one of toughness and an unwillingness to compromise. For us seniors, there would be no easy “A”. She wasn’t our friend or confidant; she didn’t stand at the front of the class to entertain us. And I loved her for it. Mrs. Sutton was a big part of the reason I decided to major in English. Lately, another opportunity to second-guess myself.

In the creative arts, one of the few professional tracks where there is a high likelihood that you will never be able to support yourself in your chosen field, it’s easy to doubt your choices and your ability. Maybe doppelgangers don’t always stem from the dark side, the Darth Vaders of the Force. Maybe they appear in order to remind us of someone or something we’d lost track of along the way, giving us an opportunity to reconnect with that part of ourselves we had misgivings about.

Jacquelin Cangro