Erica Shi | Staff Illustrator

Dearest St. Louis,

This is my formal apology for treating you like a rebound. I am only starting to understand now how awful it must have felt to hear me bring up Annapolis, Maryland, with everyone I talked to for more than 10 minutes during my first month of college. 

I was seemingly committed to you, but still bringing up an old flame — where the rolling hills burst with reds and golds, and the Chesapeake stretched wide, waves lapping sailboats against weathered docks that came alive with music and seafood boils. I’m sorry I called you lifeless and reduced you to a mere speck nestled within endless rows of corn. Moving away from home was rough, and I took my agitation out on you. 

The truth is, I had a harder time adjusting than expected. The most insignificant details would bring visceral memories flooding back. I couldn’t help but miss home — skipping class to eat pizza on the piers, birthdays spent laughing along the cobbly streets of downtown, and all of the bookstores, coffee shops, and recesses that my friends and I affectionately called “third places” — the spaces in between school and home that were tinged with warmth and familiarity. 

Home, as an idea, is soft and undefined — only when it’s challenged do you realize how the oddest of things mean so much. 

During spring of last year, I was weighing out my college choices. I always considered the geographic location of the school to be little more than an afterthought — no more than the background of my home for the next four years.

When I arrived here, my mindset changed. St. Louis was not the problem; the problem was what St. Louis wasn’t: home. Familiar. Known. Annapolis. 

So yeah, I was in the throes of a messy breakup. I went from my lively, East Coast libshart-central city to the sleepy Midwest — and as much as I loved WashU, I felt nothing towards St. Louis.

It wasn’t until my friend from home visited in October that my perspective shifted. As I headed over to the airport to pick her up, I thought about the itinerary for her visit, hell-bent on making sure she had fun. 

As I was planning, I realized how little of St. Louis I knew to show her — and how I was just as much a stranger to the city as she, who had never stepped foot into Missouri.

But that weekend, St. Louis, I think I finally met you where you were — and as we ran around town, from catching “The Substance” at Chase Park Plaza, to having a picnic on Art Hill, to harassing (not really, I promise) the hippos at the zoo, I realized how much you had to offer. More so than that, I realized how defensive I felt towards you. I wanted my friend to love you just as much as I was starting to.

And so, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for looking for something old in the new. You have so, so much to offer, and I’ve tried almost every weekend since that one to explore your every nook and cranny. I’ve found so many “third places,” and am confident that I’ll continue to find more in the next few years. You’re not Annapolis, but you’re not supposed to be — and for what it’s worth, I think I’m coming around to loving you all the same. 

Thank you for giving me the time and patience that you did, and I’m so excited to get to know you more. I hope that one day, leaving you will be just as hard as it was leaving Annapolis. 

With all my love,

Eman