The Hill That Felt Like Home

August 2025

As I geared up to return from my study abroad adventures in Milan, I had a summer in Washington D.C. waiting for me. Finding short-term housing in D.C. is notoriously difficult, but somehow, I stumbled upon the perfect intern housing in the heart of Capitol Hill - ready for a summer of finding my rhythm and making the city my own.

I had one goal in mind - to make the neighborhood mine. Capitol Hill is an interesting place. On the surface, it’s the center of American politics, full of government buildings, policy professionals, and hurried footsteps. My apartment was right across from a Senate building, so the energy was always buzzing - staffers with coffees in hand, black cars lined up, interns in pencil skirts rushing past. But amid all that power and professionalism, I was determined to find something softer. And slowly, I did.

Like any good neighborhood, Capitol Hill revealed itself through small rituals. I found my favorite cafe within the first week - a little corner spot called Sweet Lemon Cafe, only two minutes away. The first thing that caught my eye on the menu was “Masala Chai,” one of my favorite drinks. It felt like a fateful moment - as if the universe was saying, this is your place. The cafe was tiny, with just a few tables and a barista who always greeted me with a smile. On sleepy work-from-home Fridays, I’d sit by the window with my chai, watching Hill staffers hurry by, the smell of baked goods and ambition in the air.

And as if that wasn’t enough, even my favorite takeout place felt like destiny. Just four minutes away was a small restaurant called Butter Chicken Company. From the first few words exchanged, I could tell the owners were Bangladeshi. Naturally, I struck up a conversation. Soon I learned their story - how they’d been running the restaurant for years, about their children, their life in D.C. Before I left that day, they told me to stop by anytime if I ever needed anything, and to them, I wasn’t just another customer - I was “one of their own.” It felt like I’d found a Capitol Hill family. That summer, I went back at least once a week, sometimes for the butter chicken, sometimes just for the feeling of home.

Another part of my Capitol Hill routine was far less ordinary - my near-weekly visits to the Russell Senate Building. I swear they had one of the best mochas in D.C., which became my unexpected obsession. The funniest part? I wasn’t there for politics - just caffeine. It always felt so quintessentially D.C. to have to pass full-on federal security, ID checks, and metal detectors just to grab my favorite coffee. On work-from-home days, I’d stroll in wearing jeans or even sweatpants, surrounded by staffers in suits and heels. It was peak “Capitol Hill energy” - me, underdressed and slightly out of place, sipping my mocha while senators’ aides power-walked around me.

One of the best parts about living in Capitol Hill was how connected it was. If I went right, I was at Union Station, and a little further, Union Market - my go-to for everything from oysters to vintage stalls. If I went left, I found myself in Eastern Market, one of my favorite weekend rituals. The flea market there became the heartbeat of my D.C. summer - colorful booths, local artists, farmers selling peaches, the kind of place where time slows down in the best way.

Some of my favorite memories from that summer were the days I got to host friends. I loved showing them “my” D.C. - taking them to Adams Morgan (my favorite neighborhood), wandering through Georgetown, doing light damage to our wallets, and laughing until our feet hurt. Even beyond D.C., Northern Virginia became part of my map - home to the best food and a vibrant community. With my office in Arlington, my evenings often turned into mini adventures - exploring Clarendon, Eden Center, or grabbing late dinners with coworkers who’d become friends.

I’d visited D.C. plenty of times before, but living there changed everything. The city felt different once I knew its sounds - the morning hum of traffic near the Capitol, the chatter at Eastern Market, the faint echo of music on a Friday night in Adams Morgan. I began to see how D.C. was more than just the backdrop of politics - it was full of people chasing their own versions of purpose, ambition, and belonging. And somewhere in that rhythm, I found mine too.

That summer was supposed to be temporary - a few months of internships and exploration. But it became something bigger. Capitol Hill wasn’t just where I lived; it became my first real neighborhood. The corner cafe, the takeout place that knew my name, the weekend markets, even the mocha runs through Senate security - they all became part of my routine, part of me.

Now, as I think about moving back to D.C. after graduation, it feels less like starting somewhere new and more like returning home. Because before it was a career move or a city of ambition, it was a summer full of chai, flea markets, laughter, and late-night walks on the Hill.

The Hill taught me that home doesn’t have to be where you come from - sometimes, it’s where you finally slow down, look around, and realize you belong.