So I left my strange country a few weeks early, if for no other reason than my own safety. But even in my home country, I’m now living in a new strange city. When I had gone to my strange country I was in the middle of moving my entire life. All of my stuff was in one state in middle America, while my car– loaded with stuff– was on the east coast. Well. A little over a week after getting back from my strange country, I’m now living in a strange city. All of my life I’ve always been slightly afraid of big life changing moments, but I walk through them just for the sake of getting through them. As I had been packing boxes full of a life that I had built, tears would well in my eyes, and the idea of leaving something I’d worked so hard for just killed me. How could I just give up so easy and run away. Well after all of my stuff left the east coast in a moving truck, I realized that I hadn’t given up so easily, and I wasn’t running away, I was walking away– and there’s a difference. Now though in my new (much bigger apartment) I’m all moved in– with much thanks to my family– and I don’t feel any different than I did on the east coast. And not feeling different, is a different feeling. I’ve always some how tried to compartmentalized who I am in relation to where I am. But today as I was walking to the Break Time down the road to get a bar of soap to clean my newly pierced (and possibly infected) ear, I looked around me, and it was so different. The roads were smaller–I could cross them without fear of being hit by a car– and there’s less options by way of entertainment. Even with all the differences this place could be Wilmington. A lot of people don’t know me here, but they will. I’m not really sure what I’m doing here, but I’ll figure it out. And the lack in feeling a tragic loss in not being in Wilmington, I’m hopeful that things are only getting better.
In my new strange city.