I've always found Baltimore to be a city of contradictions—charming, yes, but with a rawness that can't be ignored. It's the kind of place where beauty and struggle coexist, often in the same block. I moved to Baltimore when I was young, leaving behind the quieter, suburban comforts of Silver Spring. Despite my young age, I remember being pulled into the heart of a city with so much to offer and many stories to tell. Fells Point, where I first lived, quickly became the center of my childhood—its cobblestone streets and colorful rowhouses as a constant backdrop to my early memories.
Fells Point is one of Baltimore's oldest neighborhoods: Once the hub of the City's bustling maritime industry, it created a city that grew around the bay and the economic growth trade brought. Today, it's a place that's equal parts historic and modern. Once home to working-class families, the rowhouses have been repurposed into cafes, boutiques, and art galleries. As a kid, I remember taking the Urban Pirate across the bay, touring the inner harbor and all it has to offer. I had bagels and gelato on the water. The streets are always alive with the sounds of pedestrians, the hum of passing boats, and the laughter of those who've come to enjoy the neighborhood's Charm.
But as much as I loved Fells Point, life eventually took me to Mt. Washington, a quieter corner of the City that felt a world away from the hustle of downtown. It wasn't the flashy, touristy side of Baltimore, but I came to appreciate it for what it offered—a sense of calm and open space in a city that could sometimes feel overwhelming. From living in Mt. Washington, and as I grew and gained independence, I started to better understand the different sides of Baltimore. I made friends from all over the City, each with a different story to tell about where they came from and what life was like for them. Some came from the high-rises of West Baltimore, others from the affluent neighborhoods of Roland Park. Through them, I began to see how complex this City really is. I learned about the stark divides in wealth and opportunity, neighborhoods with high vacancy rates and struggling schools, and the daily challenges of people trying to make a life in a city with such a complicated, racist, and segregated history.
I witnessed the frustration of people who felt left behind, forgotten by a system that seemed to favor development and gentrification over the people who had built the City in the first place––how redlining, white flight, and disinvestment have crippled and continue to cripple communities across the City. Baltimore is home to some of the best and worst of American neighborhoods—the highs of the Inner Harbor and the National Aquarium, where I've done a fellowship and had the privilege of exploring, and the lows of boarded-up homes and vacant lots as a constant reminder of the City's economic struggles.
Baltimore, though, is also a city known for its activism. I lived through the protests following the death of Freddie Gray in 2015, and I don't think I'll ever forget the way the City burst into action. To my nine-year-old eyes, what seemed like an endless sea of people filled the streets was the truest display of passion and care for one another. It wasn't just a faraway issue on the news; it was happening right outside. Throughout my time in Baltimore, there were many more protests, all of which I was proud of. While some sects of the media portrayed them as riots or as school teachers scolded students for being active demonstrators, I saw each act as one of love. To show my appreciation, I also took to the streets. I joined activist/outreach groups like the Baltimore Student Union and Ingenuity Student Board to inspire change regarding housing and educational injustices.
To me, it's that spirit that defines the City. Despite everything—poverty, inequality, and all the challenges the City faces—there's an energy here that's hard to find anywhere else. One might ask why Baltimore is known as "Charm City."The name might seem out of place. How can a city struggling with so many issues be called charming? But it's not about the shiny tourist spots or the polished parts of town. Its Charm is about the people continuing to fight for something better. And that's why it will always be more than just a place to me—it's a part of who I am.
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