3

"Heaven is a place on earth with you, tell me all the things you want to do" -Lana

I waited seven weeks to make the first visit to the Northeast from D.C.

Ask me in early September and I'd probably tell you that I'd be back in there permanently by now.

More ready than ever to divorce the District and not look back.

I would have anxiety during the bus rides back to it or after out-of-state friends would leave after their visits. 

Young college grads are fearless and adventurous. A new home is nothing more than a duffel bag of clothes and a new place to lay your head... so I was ashamed that I wasn't calm, that I didn't make friends effortlessly, that I didn't have somewhere to be at each weekend. That I couldn't mingle and didn't enjoy mingling. 

Over the last few years this blog has evolved from one about love and relationships, to one about finding love and strength in the midst of finding "home". I love walking out in eighth street in Manhattan at the bus terminal and seeing how busy and gritty it is, I order a veggie burger with no mayo at that BK every time and every time, there is a chunk of disgusting mayo on it... New Yorkers-- too many taxis, too much emissions in the air, too loud, I could never live there. I love how beautiful the Kendall neighborhood and Waterfront in Boston is too. Walking by it literally takes my breath away. Smooth move on a certain boy's end, but beautiful allows a lot of room to think, which is scary. That climate. That boy... has been so much of a crutch.  Everything from innocent Bieber, to Lana romance, to the not so innocent Usher seduction song.... kind of draw... kind of crutch.

But I don't see myself there. 

September was all about imagining October when the weather dips (the crazy hurricane encroaching on the east coast and mid-Atlantic allows me a day off to write this), and daylight shortens, and the room is just 4 walls and a bed adjacent to roommates one doesn't know, and the 3 year old students keep crying for their moms and dads all day. When you're that young, it's ok to show need.

What is the secret to making any place where you were not raised, home? I don't believe in God but I think there are spirits looking out for me and for all of us... because things turn around sometimes, each child's personality and curiosity begins to emerge-- reminding me how much I want to be a mother, the money turns out to be enough, the roommates are funny and vibrant, there are 2 gyms where I can run out any ignorance people subject me through during the day, and the city is bright. Columbia Heights is busy and calming, I feel safe in it but I don't feel rich, privileged, gated... white. I did not panic during the bus ride back.

Maybe it's just trying to find the comedy in things. The womanizers who bother and sometimes scare me when I'm alone... I'm probably going to miss that obnoxiousness once I'm old, wrinkly, and overweight. They probably don't mean too much harm so once in a while when they say “hey ma”, I just smile, say “hey” and move on.

Once in a while I would try my hand at mingling or making a joke to people who are not close to me, not because I'm any good at it, not because it's comfortable, or genuine, or could create relationships down the line, or for the purpose of networking (which I'm still trying to convince myself I should care about as a working adult), but to be pleasant... because I find that I've struggled immensely when people aren't at least pleasant and considerate.

Columbia Heights and DC are not home yet. There's still a lot to be said about being around people who truly care and love me. But there are people who know me and like me in the city. "Trusting the process," as my IHP sister, Thuy Ann, would say. I woke up one morning in early October feeling like I can do this, that I'm not failing or weak... it was nice a change. 

Every poem I've written in the past year has been junk... it's probably because I was not in the city enough, or dated enough, had my heart broken enough... things have always fallen in place, I wouldn't know how to date, every time rejection was about to hit... I would resort... poetry tends to be stagnant and cliched when there are no risks. Maybe it's time to learn new things for the sake of art.

"Cause it could get ugly, before it gets beautiful." -Chris Brown