Today was the first day the acceptance that I am here permanently has seeped in instead of that dissociative thought that I am just here for a week and then going “home”. I am “home” now and it is an alien planet that some call Rhod Island.
It has been a weird transition because almost immediately after getting here I have had to report to work morning to evening Monday through Friday and just absorb shovelfuls of information. The technology is foreign, the subject manner is unfamiliar, and the process of sitting at a desk from morning till night is alien. I stand up from my desk in my little nook, and I just want to sit down and stare at my phone, but at the same time, I feel like I should play back-to-back soccer matches. I stare at my phone.
I have no past here. I have no memories here. Nothing is concrete; everything is wavering shapes waiting to be formed into something. Will this street be the only time I walk down it, or will this street be full of stories and emotions? I know nothing now.
When my mind is trying to discern these shapes, it goes into the library and pulls out similar forms, but they just don’t fit here. Do you know how many times I have recognized people here?
I don’t want the shapes to match. I want new shapes, colors, sounds, and experiences. I have spent many years listening to people moving to where I used to live telling me all the reasons it is terrible there and why it was better where they came from. I wondered why they moved there then.
I am already falling in love with New England. Fireflies, lighthouses, rocky shores, and history – be it primarily white people history. The roads aren’t straight, nature is sometimes beating the concrete, and there is so much rich diversity here. Diversity also means excellent food.
I don’t like some things, but it doesn’t do you or me any good bring those up.
The loneliness creeps in, though. I knew it would. Something is unsettling about everything being unfamiliar. There is something melancholy about not knowing where to go if I need comfort.
My parents would be jealous of the hydrangea game here.
I think about Oregon a lot. I knew I would. I think of weird memories that I haven’t thought of in years. Faces are popping up in my dreams that I saw once on the streets of Portland. I dreamt about the rope swing. At work, I daydreamed about the dilapidated mansion that was falling into the Willamette. I think about my grandparents’ apple orchard a lot – they love apple picking here, I guess.
It is hot and humid here right now, but the evening is bringing a nice breeze. I don’t know what direction the wind is coming from because I have no bearings here. It is probably coming from the sea, but I am probably wrong. The air smells and feels thick.
This moment will soon be in the past. I will grow comfortable with my surroundings. I will know where north is all of the time. Just because it is lonely and uncomfortable doesn’t mean it is the wrong thing to do.