I want to be the only one for miles and miles

"And I'm homesick... cause I no longer know... where home is..."

In 24 days, I'll be back in Chicago for almost a full week. I'll be staying at my friend's place, where I used to go all the time for game night, delicious dinners, and various holiday parties. I'll get to wander streets I once knew so well. I'll take the EL to my favorite old haunts. I'll see faces I haven't seen in over 9 months, that I once used to see daily, or at least weekly. I'll get to do things that I used to do each day, that used to be part-and-parcel of my life.

For some reason, the entire time I lived in Chicago, I told myself, told others, and truly believed that Chicago was just a stopping point. It was never "home." While I enjoyed my time there, I always felt like I was just passing through, just wasting time on my way to somewhere, and something, else. Despite living with or near my amazing friends, despite having a survivable job, despite living close enough (and far enough) to my family, despite all these things that make a place "home" for so many people, it never felt that way.

I thought maybe I'd find my home in Denver. I was hoping that this was going to be it, that this would be the last place (or at least last state) that I'd ever live (at least for many, many years). That Denver would have what I need... whatever that may mean. But I haven't found home here. I've worked hard to build a new life. I have my very own apartment; I have wonderful friends; I have the right career path (through schooling and internship). I love the mountains. I love the weather (though I could do with some more thunderstorms). I love the air, the flowers, the trees. I feel like Denver has everything I ever thought I wanted.

People keep telling my to give it time, and I will. But I find myself dreaming of Chicago. Longing for Chicago. Missing Chicago deep in my bones. I question whether it's just because I miss my friends (I do), or if it's the city itself. I ask myself, "if all the people you knew while living there for 3 years were gone, would you still want to move back after grad school?" Honestly? I just don't know.

I hope that when I go back to visit, in roughly 3 weeks, I'll get a better sense of what I want. That I'll be able to figure out if the place finally feels like home. Or perhaps, when I return (especially since I haven't left Denver once since moving here), I'll find that I missed Denver and am excited to come back. Will I call it home? Will I call Chicago home as I leave?

When will I find that place called home?



"There's only one thing on my mind
searching boxes underneath the counter,
on a chance that on a tape I'd find...
a song for someone who needs somewhere to long for.

Homesick.
Because I no longer know where home is."

Writen in 2007, but desperately needed as a reminder now.

Why I Write

I.

I write because of words like cacophony and cornucopia, for evaporate and elaborate and illusion. I write because of trick words like knock, knit and knot, for trick letters like C and K, for count and call. I write for rules: for I before E except after C and Q is almost always followed by U. I write for there and their and they’re. I write because of words like grit and grind, for gut and glory—words I can feel in the back of my throat. For words that dance on my tongue like evolution, alliteration, and allegory. I write for the words that make my lips murmur, words that call for their joining, for summer and magic, monkey and mayhem. I write because the words on the page wind their way through my ears and mouth and fingers and demand to be let out.

II.

I write because my skirt once blew over my head on the streets of New York City, for pulling a Marilyn Monroe, with uglier underwear. I write because of four year old Lahu children calling me farang bababobo, crazy foreigner. For turning a Lacrosse field into a mud slip-in-slide, for fall trees that look like they’re on fire, for drunken roommates falling down the stairs. I write because of the way it feels to say goodbye, forever, to people who feel like family. I write because I held my dog in my arms as the vet gave him a shot and he died. I write because a man once held me down and silenced my words. I write because sometimes it’s the only way I can remember.

III.

I write because I’m afraid I’ll be alone forever. I write to make marks on my own world, marks I’ll see forever. I write the things I cannot say, the things I don’t want to hear out loud. I write because I’m afraid that if I don’t put my thoughts, my images, on paper they’ll evaporate as though they never existed. I write because someone has to connect with my words, even if that someone is only me ten years from now. I write because I fear that if I don’t I’ll poison my body. I write because I am afraid that one day all I’ll have left is a pen and paper and the ability to write.

Happiness Is...

(Haven't done one of these in far too long.)

1. Realizing that getting a "B" in a class isn't the worst thing in the world.

2. Skipping classes to read, in bed, for fun, for the entire day! (Hunger Games! Read it!)

3. Knowing that in 28 days I will (a) have finished my first year of graduate school and (b) will be in Chicago with my people.

4. Hiking in Red Rocks, moving my body as it wants to be moved, witnessing the gloriousness of Colorado.

5. Talking with a fabulous friend for hours and hours.

6. Watching a Red Wings playoff game with wonderful people!

7. Being able to provide support to friends, old and new, when they find life too overwhelming.

8. Planning my 26th birthday party!

9. Thinking about Telluride and how amazing the festival will be!

10. Getting overwhelmed with school work, not having a summer job, and planning next year... and then remember that it will all work out in the long run.

“Someday, sometime, you will be sitting somewhere. A berm overlooking a pond in Vermont. The lip of the Grand Canyon at sunset. A seat on the subway. And something bad will have happened: You will have lost someone you loved, or failed at something at which you badly wanted to succeed. And sitting there, you will fall into the center of yourself. You will look for some core to sustain you. And if you have been perfect all your life and have managed to meet all the expectations of your family, your friends, your community, your society, chances are excellent that there will be a black hole where that core ought to be.”
-Anna Quindlen, Being Perfect

I miss Chicago with every part of me. My friends who are my family, my security, my confidence, my babes, my city, my neighborhood.... my old life.

Daughter
by Nicole Blackman

"One day I’ll give birth to a tiny baby girl
and when she’s born she’ll scream
and I’ll tell her to never stop

I will kiss her before I lay her down at night
and will tell her a story so she knows
how it is and how it must be for her to survive

I’ll tell her to set things on fire
and keep them burning
I’ll teach her that fire will not consume her
that she must use it

I’ll tell her that people must earn the right
to use her nickname
that forced intimacy is an ugly thing

I’ll help her to see that she will not find God
or salvation in a dark brick building
built by dead men

I’ll make sure she always carries a pen
so she can take down evidence
If she has no paper, I’ll teach her to
write everything down with her tongue,
write it on her thighs

I’ll make her keep reinventing herself and run fast
I’ll teach her to write her manifestos
on cocktail napkins
I’ll say she should make men lick her ambition
I’ll make her understand that she is worth more
with her clothes on
I’ll teach her to talk hard

I’ll tell her that when the words come too fast
and she has no use for a pen
that she must quit her job
run out of the house in her bathrobe
leave the door open
I’ll teach her to follow the words

They will try to make her stay
comfort her, let her sleep, bathe her in a television blue glow
I will cut her hair, tell her to light the house on fire
kill the kittens
When nothing is there
nothing will keep her
and she is not to be kept

I’ll say that everything she has done seen spoken
has brought her to the here this now
This is no time for tenderness
no time to stand, waiting for them to find her
There are nations within her skin
Queendoms come without keys you can carry

I’ll teach her that she has an army inside her
that can save her life
I’ll teach her to be whole, to be holy
I’ll teach her how to live,
to be so much that she doesn’t even
need me anymore
I’ll teach her to go quickly and never come back
Things get broken fast here

I’ll make her stronger
than I ever was

Turned at twenty she’ll break into bits of star and throw herself against the sky

(2006 is an excellent year to disappear)

I will not let them
distroy her life
the way they distroyed
mine

I’ll tell her to never forget
what they did to you
and never let them know
you remember

Never forget
what they did to you
and never let them know
you remember

Never forget
what they did to you
and never let them know
you remember"