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Central Park Reflection 2

September 16th, 2022

I’ve never felt my feet less! In my navigation of the neighborhood I look out for movie memorabilia, complex conversation excerpts, the sounds that bypass my headphones to carry the weight of my stream of movement.

Down 2nd there’s Jet’s where I had my first Motown pizza since I got here; the slight tinge of jalapeno reminding me of when Juan cried over our last dinner. It wasn’t about me leaving as much as it is his spice tolerance is so low. At the home depot on 3rd, a Nigerian woman and I shared our love for the country’s coffee (with no other country’s coffee really finding that spot between sweet and effective), all before coming to the halting discovery that the Home Depot doesn’t have any coat racks. I don’t want to remember how awkward it was to leave after that.

On 54th, I try to get away. Between the mail trucks and the tailor I get some respite from my roommates. I miss home. Not the places I grew up but the familial presence of it all. I think I enjoy independence, but I also think I need to sleep on that a bit more. Far Downtown I remember people I know. I have pizza that was recommended by that weird kid Eshaan that Laura and I had to try. I pass a Popeyes similar to the one Josh threw up at. I sit on a bench where my father let us take a break after a full day of touring when I was 11.

As I get on the train back home I remember how much of my time I spent missing. In Hong Kong when I missed DC, here where I miss Hong Kong. I don’t want to spend my 20s reminiscing about my teens or my 30s reminiscing about my 20s. I want to be present. I try to stop worrying about that sort of thing. I hit myself in the brain with that Matthew 6 verse that says “can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?”

When crossing the street I always leave so late for class that I can’t wait for the light. I time my movement just between cars passing. I check windows to see if I’m hunching with my trudge. I have to be in my body when I walk. Helps me keep up with myself. I pass Ahmed’s Falafel, greet the men smoking cigars outside the bar on 55th. Often they’re talking about love or wisdom, both I try to know anything about.

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