Nov. 21st, 2015

first post

Nov. 21st, 2015 07:54 pm
auberginedreams: (Default)
so i have no idea what i'm doing here. i know perfectly well what my goal is with this account, but i have absolutely no idea how this website works. i guess i'll figure it out. i am a child of the digital age, after all. anyway, i'm making this account because i want to have a diary that is not only for me but also for the world. i've always thought it's funny how i'd much rather have strangers know my deepest and darkest secrets than friends or family. long sleeves at school and home and t-shirts at the mall. anyway, this is me. you'll never know who i am, but you'll know more about me than anyone who actually knows me. thank you for listening.

auberginedreams: (Default)
The view of the Chicago skyline from the planetarium is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Not just because it is pleasing to the eye, but because it is mine. The sad thing is, I wasn’t even aware of its beauty until I left. I never knew that Chicago had wrapped itself around my heart until it tugged hard when I tried to run away. I was trapped in the Midwest, but it was home and it always will be.
I can’t talk to anyone here about what it feels like you uproot your life and leave all your friends behind, because they have no idea. I can’t marvel over the little things, the small cultural differences, because the people here have known them all their lives and are oh so sick of them by now. Some of my teachers don’t even know I’m new here. Who is this girl, where did she come from? They decide they don’t care and move on while I am ripped in half, spread out in pieces across the country. Kids care a little bit more.
“You’re from Chicago, what’s it like there?”
“Colder. More jazz. A bigger scene.”
“Oh. Cool.”
No one wants to know about my old life. It’s always moving forward, never stopping to look back on the past. On the sixteen years that made me who I am.
I miss having friends and a life. I miss knowing that if I died, people would care. I miss my scene. I miss the bands, clubs, and sports I was in. There are versions of myself I am definitely not sad to leave behind. Thank god no one here knows what I was like in middle school. No one knows that I used to date That Nerdy Band Guy or used to be obsessed with One Direction or owned multiple Sleeping With Sirens shirts (and wore them to school). But I am an outsider living in an insider’s world. They all know each other and not me. It’s not that I don’t have friends here, but it just takes time to build strong relationships. I just wish time would hurry the fuck up. It sucks being lonely.
The only thing that’s the same is the music. The same musicians play the same shows as they do back home, and for just a moment, I can feel like I’m back in the House of Blues or Bottom Lounge or the Aragon Ballroom. I still have all the same music on my phone and Pete Wentz’s lyrics still mean the same thing on the West Coast as they do in the Midwest. But I don’t have School of Rock anymore, which really sucks. I miss the amazing musicians I was able to befriend through it. I miss being in a tiny room and playing shitty covers and sweating and feeling awesome and leaving with ringing ears. I miss having crushes on gorgeous, dark-haired guitarists who had a tendency to not like me back.
I miss the little suburban bubble that I tried so hard to burst. I miss the girls who made me smile and the boys who made my heart swell. I look forward to the reunions, but can I really just waltz back into your lives so easily?

The kids are the same here, just with slightly different faces. High school’s still bullshit. But I’m the same. I’m the same Midwestern kid who just wants to sit outside the planetarium and stare at the Chicago skyline.

auberginedreams: (Default)
On the plane ride back I read about a boy who was also on a plane. He called his ex-girlfriend before takeoff and she said, “I hope your plane crashes.” He wished it did. I stared out the window and thought about what would happen when we landed on the tarmac at O’Hare. My family and I would push through throngs of people to drag our luggage off the crowded carousel, then we would run out as quickly as possible to avoid getting trapped in one of the world’s busiest airports. We would stand on the gray, chilly sidewalk and wait for a cab, then watch the bright Chicago lights fade out into darkness as the car shuttled us into the suburbs. We would arrive at our house with the big red door and blow warm air into our hands to counter the sharp bite of the wind. We would smile and laugh in our echoey house with the high ceilings. We would be home.

It always scares me to land at SFO because it looks like you’re going to land in the bay, but then at the last possible second a thin landing strip appears and tension drains out of your shoulders. The airport was slow-moving and sparsely dotted with travelers. The air was warm and still. We drove across the Bay Bridge, marveling at the beauty of San Francisco. It was beautiful, but it felt off. Two puzzle pieces that don’t quite match up. This city is not mine and I do not belong to this city. We are overly polite dance partners who touch sparingly and carefully. I know it takes time. And I will wait. But in two years it will be another city, another place I will try to call a home. I wonder if I will ever feel as bound to a city as I am to Chicago. I hope I do. Chicago has shitty weather and a fair amount of people I’ve grown to hate.

I'll get over this homesickness soon, the same way I get over everything. But right now it's worth a few blog posts.
auberginedreams: (Default)
I think I’m romanticizing what was killing me. I have a tendency to do that. Let’s be real, Illinois fucking sucks. Middle of nowhere, the weather is shit, there’s Chicago and then nothing but cornfields and plains for eternity in every direction. And Chicago is ghetto as hell. Shit goes down there. For real. I feel like everything’s faster and grayer in Chicago. Everyone is always trying to get somewhere even though we all know there’s really nowhere to go in the long run. Everything that happens elsewhere is always crazier and darker in Chicago.

We are politicians, industrialists, and long dark coats. We are also scholars, jazz musicians, thespians, and kids yelling into microphones. We are homesick for another place but we cannot leave, no matter how hard we try. We are coffee on a blustery morning, philosophy, vertical steel, dark clothing, art, ice skates, and ever-present slush on the streets. We are products of lake effect and overcast skies. We are our own twisted kind of beautiful. We are some of the best people in this country and our surroundings do not reflect that. We have down-to-earth Midwestern values, New York talent, and Ivy League knowledge. We are the Chicagoans, and we don't really want to be here but for some reason so many of us cannot cut the city's dark skies out of our hearts.


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