What You Should Know Before I Leave
Is it you, or is it me?
Some days, I think you are not enough for me. Some days, I think you are way too much.
Sure, you are not New York, or London, or any of these progressive, edgy, sci-fi megacities from the movies. You are not who I imagined being with. You know that. I complain a lot.
You are too loud, too extravert: your trams are filled with people shouting juicy personal details in their phones, looped conversations heating up the air; your streets get clogged whenever someone meets their friend — or an enemy — and they won’t move till they’ve said it all. You are too traditional — do you really need to sneer at me whenever I order a tea-and-toast instead of your favorite coffee-and-croissant? You are inconsistent. You make me feel lonely: that quaint breed of desolation that’s only found in the middle of a cheering crowd.
Yet I know that lots of people would trade places with me. You look gorgeous on your instagram pics — the stone flame of your cathedrals yelling believers’ demands at the sky, and the fragile celestial clockworks of your domes; forgotten bastions, covered in ivy, and sleek skyscrapers; fancy dinners, fashion icons, cute dogs. Who walks away from this, right?
It was always me who had to prove her right to be by your side. An immigrant girl…
