anxious. anxious. anxious.
Time slows down significantly. I wait to get back to a time and a place that can only be described as "home". I've thought about home a lot lately. In a meeting I had recently with my cell* in Fishtown (or the Fishery, as Jen insists on calling it) we discussed how we define home. Between that discussion and my own experience, I can only deduce that it consists of many different things, depending the person and the situation.
and so--
I was anxious. Anxious to leave Philly and see the people I consider home. Home was in New York City, a place I hardly know. Home was preparing for an afternoon picnic on sixtieth and fifth in Central Park. Home was waiting for me, and for a reasonable bargain of twelve dollars, I was getting there via the New Century (Not to be confused with the Fung Wah, the Lucky Star, or Apex) from Chinatown.
The ride to Chinatown from Chinatown was pretty much the norm. A young asian man proceeds to immediately pass out use my shoulder as a pillow for the duration of the ride. Meanwhile, America is rapidly becoming more obese as the woman to my left stuffs a greasy big mac in her mouth, pausing only to snack on a bag of fritos. You get what you pay for. Eventually, I get to the city and take the train to the East Village where I finally find them all, hanging out in a place that can only be described as the Silhouette of Manhattan. For those of you who have not been fortunate enough to experience the Silhouette, my most sincere apologies...you haven't lived. For the first half hour, it's difficult to even concentrate on conversation, I was so overcome with a sense of relief. I never realized how much I took for granted the fact that I know these people so well until I moved to Philly. Seeing familiar faces is something I got accustomed to in Boston.
SO a ridiculously amazing 24 hours made short....
Little Italy. Noodle Shop. Williamsburg. Dance Party. 4 am. "Thank You DJ". Laughter. Typical Seven Ashford debauchery minus a few key characters. breakfast at 4 am. Astoria. Sleep. Tea. Gondola's to Roosevelt Island. dinner. and good byes.
I truly love and appreciate all of them. I'm truly grateful to know and have known them. I'm thankful for their role in my life, not only in my four years living in Boston, but now that we've all scattered and have gone on to new things.
Our goodbyes were staggered..and to be honest, I'm not all that sure that we'll ever meet up this way again. I left Jenny last, and set off to find the Chinatown bus home, only to run into a young Chinese man, who happened to be in the city to finalize wedding plans. Though Baltimore was his current place of residence, NYC was "home". Home, he tells me, is where his fiance is (their marriage is sometime in november). We talked about this as he led me to my bus. Here, while waiting for the Philly bus, I met two men, waiting for their bus to D.C...back to home. They were telling me how they were ready to leave the unfamiliar skyline offered by New York and get back to a more familiar place. We parted in mutual understanding, exchanging smiles and hand shakes. good words. friendly faces. I found my seat on the bus, only to listen as people kept milling aboard, asking anxiously where the bus was headed. One woman, lost, and trying to find the right bus, complained that she just wanted to get home. I smiled. Home carries many different meanings, so multifaceted, encompassing time, place and relationships. Sitting on the bus I realized I am home. and yet, I was heading home too. The peace in that overwhelms me and I'm thankful for being aware of it.
Much Love!
Lina
