Maybe I can begin this post by apologizing for my absence. I have these spells where I can’t write for some unknown reason. I’m hesitant to call it writer’s block because to have writer’s block, one must actually try. I become so fatigued from work and schooling that most days, I won’t even think about bleeding onto the paper. But if this is my dream, I should work on my craft no matter how utterly exhausted I am.
Things have vastly changed between the last time I posted a personal entry and now. One being that I’ve moved. Again. I’m back in Queens. A borough I have a very tedious love/hate relationship with but one that I’ve called home since birth. My first fleeing from this borough was “the Big Move” when my parents uprooted my sister and I’s life for a quieter, seemingly easier Virginia. Then, when I as an adult moved back to New York, I stayed in Queen for less than a month before exploring upper Manhattan, better known as Harlem. On March 3rd, however, I moved back.
The reasons are simple yet complex and hopefully you, the reader, will be able to keep up. You ever feel utterly at home someplace? Whether it is your house, your parent’s home, or church, this is somewhere familiar where you don’t feel as if you have to pretend. Harlem was like living in a stranger’s borough. Whenever I walked places, I was uncomfortable. I wanted to go inside and be away from these strangers. This wasn’t my home. Entering Queens is like nostalgia where I feel like I know everyone and I’ll be fine, and I’m not afraid to run to the store or tell FedEx to leave my boxes on the side of the house. Also, I mentioned to a good friend of mine that moving to Queens was like magic juice. I’m seeing my friends and family more. My grandmother came over last Sunday and had dinner with me and watched a movie. My boyfriend and I spend more time together, building and getting to know one another without the hassle of a two hour trip, my best friend and her daughter pop over whenever the mood strikes them and I absolutely adore my niece jumping up and down on my bed.
However, as with everything there is a con list. I absolutely abhor the abysmal transit system. The buses and trains are a daily headache, and moving to Queens where my commute to work is longer and more detailed than before is an adjustment. In Harlem, I took one train nine stops and I was at work. 30 minutes tops. Now I must take about a ten minute bus ride to a train that I have to sit on for nineteen stops. An hour and fifteen minute commute. Imagine having to be at work by 7:30am as I do most days. But, I want to talk about the larger scale of my move and what intricate parts this plays in my self-discovery journey. I finally, finally, finally have a place of my own. It’s a basement apartment where the kitchen and living room area meet, and where my queen-sized bed takes up most of the bedroom, but honey, it’s mine. No room-mate to yell at about food being missing, company being too loud, or rent not being properly handled. It’s mine, mine, mine. Someone once said that solitude was the prescription and the pain, but it sure feels like pure bliss to me.
I brought a TV and a microwave, and sat in constant amazement that little Eboni was doing these adult things by herself. I always claimed to be an adult, but this was the real thing. My parents, my best friend and my sweet patient man-friend took the time out to help me move and although things started out rocky, I became impatient and difficult, and I wanted everyone to go home at one point, we had a wonderful weekend that I wouldn’t trade for anything. My father fixed things I didn’t even know needed fixing. My mother purchased things for me I didn’t even realized I needed. It was magical.
Maybe I can segue into the mushy, romantic part of this post now. Is that okay?
So many of my relationships were spent with a huge question mark lingering over them. I never looked for a future as I was living with the “NOW” of it all. I never took them seriously. They had no dreams or ambitions and I knew the man I would eventually end up with would have to be going somewhere, because I’m headed somewhere too. I always sectioned things off in my brains when it came to my particular partner. It was as if I was on auto-pilot saying the right things at the right time to melt their heart but keeping mine ice at the same time. I never let myself get too invested because hurt was not a garment I wanted to keep wearing, at all.
But I let myself falter and now I find myself trapped. I sometimes wish I can go back to that moment where I fell for him and take it back. Do things differently. Not because my partner isn’t an amazing man whom I’d be honored to build a future with, but because I want him to see what I see and feel what I feel first. Aint no fun being bound in intense feelings by yourself. I say the first thing that comes to my mind whenever he’s around because I’m compelled to let him know that, “hey! I feel this. You should know!” and I’m always disappointed by his standoff-ish answers. He’s cool and level-headed and I’m so intense and over-loving. Irrational and compulsive. In love with love, and optimistic to a fault. I just want to be reassured that this well of feelings isn’t being ignored, set aside, over-looked or wasted.
So, what are your thoughts on my crock-pot of issues. Go on, tell me!