leaving the beloved nyc

it has been a moment since i have really written. one of my mentors told me months ago that i needed to stop and write, but the confusion of the shadow cast on mentorship allowed me to ignore his suggestions.

what has happened. i have reached a crossroads, a period of time where I watch myself moving and living as if from a bird's eye view. i am freaking out. yet by acknowledging this fact i feel more able to have a handle on the things i'm most worried about handling.

my family is doing well. this is exciting. everyone is changing, making changes, excitedyl moving forward in a healthy manner. it makes me feel more able to leave them.

my friends and i all graduated. every one of us made it out. most of us have jobs, or school ahead of us, some sort of known future lurks ahead, both inviting us into it and terrifying us with the unknown future within its discomforting uncomfortable shadow.

i'm fleeing in three weeks. it doesn't necessarily make sense, but i am. i'm leaving this coast of love, claustrophobia, memories, childhood, education, old world old school oldness. to the west coast, best coast. i had so many plans. the past four, arguable six years i've been biding my time until i would be living in my beloved nyc. maybe more than six years. when we first moved to new york, age eleven, i used to be so excited to go down to 125th and buy absurd amounts of hot 97 mixed tapes. since then i've been obsessed wit harlem. then it was as a visitor, then as washington heights crept over me, 128th became stomping grounds, dollar cabs in queens, the block in inwood, and even the buses became familiar on weekends and weeks where I escaped to friends houses I was sure I could claim new york, if i could profess to claim anywhere.

new york. new york city. the only place where beautiful, hippie, obviously not from new york because i cant help but make eye contact, remedied with stunna shades and headphones, "i know you hear me girl", bad lady, educated, bag, pockets, rolling luggage, backpack, rasta sack, army duffel, me could dip into h&m, forever 21, nicholas's, the chiney shop, jimbo's, golden krust, and feel unseen and noticed. the only place where trinidad, panama, jamaica, honduras, upstate, connecticut, and even boarding school lumped into one special place for me. the place of my first date, my first casual sex, my first fake id, my first time staying out all night, my first time realizing the people bringing the "coke" weren't talking about coca cola, my first experience with devil's springs, blacking out, awkward hookups, the place i used to roam to get myself into trouble. the place where i walk down the street, feel the sun shining on my shoulders and feel the most alive. the only place in the u.s. it feels like i'm ever really in the majority. and now i'm leaving it. wondering if i got all i could get, and knowing i didn't, haven't, couldn't possibly...wondering if i ever will.