Just hold on, we’re going home…
“Ok I’ll text you when I get to the airport”
I take one more deep breathe. I never noticed the family house I grew up in has a smell. I cant even describe it. It smells like comfort and memories. It smells like all my favorite meals and talks around the dining room table. It smells like the instructions my grandma told (yelled) at me to knead the dumplings properly, or turn the cornmeal properly to make sure it doesn’t gripe (hurt) everyone belly. It smells like patois. It’s a faint smell, that even when I moved out to live in Harlem 7 years ago, I didn’t notice. It smells like my twin cousins bubble bath. And my brother’s favorite snack. And my aunt’s favorite juice… and maybe moth balls cause West Indian.
But now, ever since I have moved across the country, I notice it every time I walk… and out. Now as I drag my Away bag down the 14 stairs to the lobby to walk out the door, to take me to my Uber that will take me back to The Bay, I try to take a deep breathe to get the smell to last in my nostrils, and ignore the lump in my throat. I say to myself, “you can’t be serious bitch”, but I knew I was extremely serious. That’s why I put tissue in my pocket.
No one told me that moving was NOT the hard part. I thought giving up my space of almost 6 years, my favorite place in the world, leaving the good memories I created and the lessons I learned, were the hard part. I thought getting on that plane with little to nothing, and starting from scratch in a place that didn’t have the people I love the most, 24 hour bodegas, or didn’t play Soca was the worst of it all. But no (it’s still pretty bad though). Every time that Uber pulls away from the house that my mother brought me home from the hospital to, I cry. No. I bawl. The whole 28 minutes (give or take traffic). I think about my grandma sly insults that she knows is going to make me kiss her in a frenzy and make her laugh uncontrollably like she didn’t want me to. And I say a prayer that, as she is noticeably getting older, that it wasn’t the last time I get to hear that laugh.
Please God don’t let it be the last time.
I think of my mom, working her ass off because, unfortunately, her and my step dad didn’t work out, and he has left her to handle everything. That I got this amazing opportunity and came home to tell her about my offer, to have her counter with their separation. I say a prayer she doesn’t work herself sick. The first time I decide to be selfish in a big way in my life, I feel like I am abandoning one of the biggest factors of me getting here.
I think of my friends who have literally been my rocks, whether they even knew I was using them for support or not. They are still celebrating, and having kids, and falling in love. I didn’t expect their worlds to stop, but to see it keep going from across the country is so humbling. My two year old godson is finally calling me Goddy (West Indian nickname for Godmother)… on FT … and all I wanted to do was hug him. Or when my friends are going through it and all I want to do is climb in bed with them and remind them that they never have to go through it alone. But then I remember Apple didn’t give us an update that advance yet…
No one told me moving wasn’t the hard part. It is hard every single time you leave. Every time you leave home, it hurts. I feel the little piece of me that feels whole when I landed wiggling it’s way back apart, refusing to come with me through TSA precheck, committed to being a New Yorker forever.
However, once I get on the plane, the tears stop. It seems crazy, but I remember, NY isn’t going anywhere. My friends (the real ones) aren’t going anywhere. My family is still just as annoying on the phone…they are talented. I think about how this is the first time I feel super challenged at a job, for the good and the bad. That I have this amazing manager who is supportive as fuck, but doesn’t let me slip on my shit. It gives me anxiety like hell but I this is the first time I feel like I work under someone who actually means it when she says she wants to “help me grow”. Like who can actually say that?!!? I think of my coworkers who become friends, like legit people who I laugh with until tears run out my eyes. Who pray for me. Who believe in me like the people 3000 miles away and 30 years in.
I think of the paycheck….
And more recently, I think of the greatest compliment I have ever gotten. On International Women’s Day, while everyone was feeling the love of supporting each other and one of my friends post about me had this exert:
“Sioban is a good person, a powerhouse, a force to be reckoned with, one of my FAVORITE writers, and super smart. She can also make any space feel like home.”
I know what it feels like to be awkward, uncomfortable, and out of place. I also know the comfort of being in a space and feel safe and loved. To say I have the gift to make any space feel like that… whew. And it reminded me of a lesson I learned a little bit ago… my gifts don’t have to be for everyone but me. God gave us gifts to share, not to sacrifice solely for the benefit of others. I had to realize when I cook, I don’t make everyone a plate and starve myself. We are all eating together… all being fulfilled (yes, I used fulfilled cause I can cook well. Ask about me).
So yes, New York has my heart. My favorite memories. Some of my favorite people. It hurts to leave every time, and I don’t see it subsiding anytime soon. But home, it lives in me. I carry it across the country. I bring it inside this *coughoverpricedcough* apartment and pour it into this space and use it on myself. Uplift myself. Comfort myself. I use it to be open to creating the new memories and favorites out here…
However, it will always be available to others. Especially for my friends when they finally come visit…
xoxo,
Sio
