Started on 12.27.12.
My flight is boarding soon. They’re playing John Legend’s Ordinary People and I’m on the verge of crying. You would think I was leaving the love of my life, or embarking on a heartache induced flight to Brooklyn. Well, you’re kind of right. Because I am leaving the love of my life, and my heart does ache. But for no man. Just a city I have loved all my life, and the beautiful people in it.
My story is different.
It’s not worse, it’s not better. It’s just different. Because I didn’t want to leave – I needed to leave. I didn’t run away from anyone. I wasn’t sick of my city. I didn’t even care that everyone knew everyone, and the world was getting smaller and smaller by the minute. Oddly enough, I needed to leave to force myself to do something that could’ve been easily done had I stayed. Hey, it be like that sometimes *shrugs*.
I’ve visited home three times since I’ve moved. Once every month that I’ve been here. Horrible. I told myself the next time I go back wouldn’t be until April for opening day, or because I can’t find a job. But I would hate for the reason I move back to be because of that. Though the most legitimate, it’s the worst excuse. Because I hate it here? Fine. Because I miss home too much? Leave. Because I’m a bitch? OK, go. But because I couldn’t find a fucking job? Naw bruh, I ain’t done here yet.
These past three months have taught me more about myself and the people I surround myself with, than the past three years. I’ve found that the people who wrongfully judge you the most are the same people who have the least right to. They have no idea who you are, and constantly compare their story to yours to validate themselves, and feel above you. It’s because of this newfound knowledge alone, that regardless of what happens, I already don’t regret my decision.
Like the homie Mo always says, “Keep on trucking.”