My Street

I live on a postage stamp street with sixteen nearly identical houses on both sides of the street. There is a triangle park at the three way intersection at the end of my street. The first picture is the street I live on and the second picture the triangle park at the intersection of my block. I really don’t know the people who live on my street. For several years after I moved into the house that I live in now. We were the only Asian family in a five block radius. Now there is an Asian family across the street and one on the other side of my street. My parent’s English was never very good so they mostly keep to themselves in fear of being caught up in a situation where they would not be able to communicate their side of the story. So in the thirteen years I have lived on my street we have only meet the neighbors to our immediate left and immediate right. My neighborhood is mainly a residential neighborhood. Every morning I see my neighbors one by one get into their cars and head to work. The ones that don’t drive to work wait with me at the bus stop. At the bus stop everyone is in their own little world. They are either reading, listening to music, like myself, or just waiting and minding their own business. Most of the time everyone knows the bus comes every fifteen minutes. Nobody ever talks to anyone else unless it is to ask “Have you been waiting long?” My street, my neighborhood, lacks the social street life described by Jane Jacobs. The park at the intersection of my street is hardly ever used. On the few occasion that I have seen anyone they are either kids hanging out or someone taking a rest and not interested in started a conversation. The only attempt there is of any social life is the once in a while block party. Most of the time everyone in my neighborhood moves about their daily lives as if in a bubble. Not wanting to be disturbed on their way to their destinations.