I moved to Los Angeles from New York less than a month ago to help report on Southern California. It’s been taking some time to settle in and adapt to my new home. I still miss my old neighborhood in Queens — the fruit stand around the corner, the cast of characters on my subway ride to work, the bodegas down the street.
My new neighborhood doesn’t have a fruit stand, and I drive to work now. But the Los Angeles I’ve started to discover, and appreciate, is a city reeling from disaster. It’s hard to get to know a place when that place is in crisis. But a city can reveal its true self in such times.
On Sunday morning, I visited Friendship Pasadena Church. Before I could tell several churchgoers I was there as a reporter, I was quickly and warmly welcomed, and offered water, coffee and doughnuts.
The people at Friendship Pasadena have been hit hard by the Eaton fire. At least 15 families who go to the church lost their homes. Others had to evacuate or know someone whose home was destroyed. And yet they still had so much to offer me, a total stranger.
It may take more time to get used to living here, but this past week taught me the meaning of home. It’s more than a physical space. It’s people.
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