Noise

Home for the holidays?

Unsafe: Back to my battleground state of Missouri

Agitation is normal; deep breathing is unbearable; noise cancellation headphones are a joke. These are my daily considerations as I quickly open my eyes each morning in St. Louis in slight shock. I feel puppy licks on my face, and the sun penetrating through the blinds of discomfort. My heart sinks, because I feel stuck; stuck in tar, black esophagus and all. People guide me to manifest; think and somehow it is. Maybe, that’s what I did all along. I manifested my failures; I manifested my carelessness; I manifested my ultimate fear of being alone in the town I grew up in.

This notion is arrogant and selfish I know, and I’m starting to understand that I put myself in this position. I am alienating people who are living their beautiful lives in an area that gives opportunity. The opportunity to stay, journey elsewhere, or the freedom to choose the life they want. That was the beautiful thing about growing up in a subdivision, like many in the midwest, hardworking and diverse. I loved that I knew aunties, uncles, my neighbors; we were family.

This neighborhood is different. After, a large snowfall, there are no children outside building snowmen, sledding down the small hills in the neighborhood, and playing with dolls in each other’s basements . Everything feels icy, bare, melting into mud.

What happened? The Indian outfits; aunties braiding my hair; the neighborhood kids of all ethnicities riding our bikes around and exploring the creek; the smell of Indian food with sleeping bags and slumber parties. Parents stopping by to pick up their kids after Dunkin’ Donuts, board games, and choreographed dance performance. Games such as Meet me at the Mall and Girl Talk sprawled out amongst the empty pizza boxes and faux makeup lessons. My childhood of different cultures meeting each other and blending felt so exciting and beautiful.

Now I see many closed doors; everyone probably scrolling their I phones, and rolling their eyes at our idiosyncrasies. It’s funny how comforting memories are nothing more than rewritten drafts of nothing published. Home now signifies emptiness. Memories of the despair I often felt growing up amongst tv boxes with one channel once again pervaded my sensibilities. We’re back to Fox News. And Donald Trump is President. I succumb to the visual comfort of two dogs in sweaters asleep.

(to be continued)…