Sunday, May 12, 2012
Washington D.C.
10:23 p.m.
We just got back to the hotel. It’s been a long day. Younger Sister’s college graduation.—Hooray for Younger Sister!
Father spent the last few months reading restaurant reviews before finalizing reservations for multiple meals throughout the commencement weekend. The culinary options were extensive, but he’s happy with his choices.
Tonight’s dinner was delicious.—“Thanks for graduating!” Older Sister and Brother-in-Law said, rubbing their satisfied bellies. Younger Sister thinks she’s special. But really, they are just celebrating themselves.
I still cringe when I think about my college graduation, the guilt and shame I felt for subjecting my family to the horror of twenty-four hours in rural Pennsylvania. Father didn’t see the point in staying for an entire weekend. There’s no place to eat in Carlisle! Every restaurant is basic, boring, goyem.—I remember carrying my cap and gown back to my bedroom and barely being able to close the door before breaking down in tears. No one was celebratory at my graduation. It was not my family’s idea of a good time.
Younger Sister thinks this weekend is about her. I’m the villain for suggesting that it’s not.
But it isn’t all bad…At least not at this exact moment.—I am sitting outside the hotel, doing the only thing I ever want to do: writing outside.
It’s lovely out here. It must be ten, no, fifteen degrees warmer here than in New York. Thanks for graduating, Younger Sister! I wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for you.—I know this bench is for smokers, but where I live, I don’t have this luxury: a writer’s convenience bench, in a well-lit, safe, relatively quiet, and private outdoor space. All I want to do is sit outside and write. In New York City, that is easier said than done.
I feel like New York is making me claustrophobic. The glass ceiling is foggy. I cannot see the sky.
I want to leave New York.—I made the mistake of mentioning this tonight at dinner. After my family completed their collective eyeroll, they looked at me with blank stares, as if waiting for me to say, Ha! Just kidding! You should have seen your faces. Can you imagine me, actually doing what I say I will?! No. You can’t.
“Well, where would you go?” Father asked. Of course, it was hypothetical because we all know I’m not going anywhere.
I said, “I’m thinking about California.” Then Mother used sarcasm to remind me that I don’t know what I want.—Their doubt is exhausting, but not convincing.
Did I ever want to live in New York? Or did I just move there after college because that is what I was supposed to do? Older Sister already lived there. My grandparents (both pairs) met there. New York City is in my blood.—“How’s your social life, Charl?” my grandparents ask with bated breath. The City is everything to them.—The truth is, I never thought about living anywhere else because I wanted to be who they wanted me to be.
Thank you for graduating, Younger Sister. This weekend has reestablished, reinforced, and reaffirmed not only why I need to leave, but also that I do know what I want, and this life ain’t it. This life has been done before. How boring.
I know my past journals projected differently, but now, this much further along, the projection is only that much more accurate: FALL ’13.
Keep going, Cha Cha. You’re on the right path, and you know you see something they don’t. Don’t rush. Be patient. New York is now, but not forever. It’s all about to happen.