I Miss You, I Miss You Not

It’s a bit if a cliché; I leave home to be with you, I stay because you make me feel alive. I leave for the adventure and stay for this thrill, to make you love me back. Somewhere along the way you did, and that was worth the world to me. It was worth becoming a foreigner, anonymous, homesick - or just sick sometimes. It was a demanding relationship with a maniac, but it was with the sexiest, most incredible maniac in the world.

You never promised me anything. I knew the deal, the terms were fair: when it stops being good, we’ll leave. But it didn’t, for a very long time. Sometimes it felt like an entire life. And when it did stop, I started making excuses; It’s just a phase. It’s February. Nothing a Caribbean vacation wouldn’t fix.

I got used to you, it felt comfortable and everything else disappeared for a while. We started our own little family.

We always knew it wasn’t going to last forever.  The truth is, we lasted longer than anyone, or even I, thought we would.

Just like that scene in every movie, 45 minutes in - or seven years in real time - CUT TO us all grown up, silver streaks in our hair, uncool jeans and Birkenstocks, spending our weekends between farmer's markets, ice-cream runs and children's meltdowns. You go through the motions but feel unfulfilled, the same bars aren't as fun, holidays start to sting. 

And then you realize; it’s time to go home now.

Thanks for all the memories. xox

Mother of All Notes

Mila was born at 8:01 am, on a sunny Friday in Manhattan, exactly one year ago. This yellow note was the last thing I wrote before leaving the house, trying to figure out when it's time to go to the hospital, writing the times of contraction pain attacking my body, knowing it’s going to get much worse when I can’t write anymore. 
Then, you come back home, with a new, perfect little human and everything is different. You try as much as you can to hang on to familiar things, routines and schedules. You try, and fail, at eating breakfast together, watching Netflix at night, or reading a bedtime story to your son (the one who truly didn't know any other option existed).

She's One today, and that note had stayed on the side-table next to my bed for at least five months after she came into the world. Writing down the times, was a last desperate attempt to stay in control, and this dirty, dusty, ugly paper, was as good reminder as any, that I need to let go.

Nothing, from this day on will go according to my plan. Naps, dinners, trips. I cannot control anything, and maybe I never really did. 

I kept that note for a while next to my bed, maybe because I'm not very good at cleaning, organizing my place and maybe it stayed with me for months until I agreed to acknowledge it - and move on.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUNSHINE. I LOVE YOU.

Bring Yourself Back Online

Feeling sentimental lately. Maybe it's the long winter, maybe it's old age... But it must have something to do with the approaching milestone of my 10^th summer in New York, and it feels like one that must be reckoned with.

So, I’ve started to plan a virtual surprise party for myself, and in the process, I remembered - I used to blog.

Rediscovering this archive of my 20's reminded me a lot of things that were completely wiped from my hard drive. Like the fact that they were pretty good, that I had a blackberry and plenty of time for recreation and introspection.

It was strange to see how my- naive, fresh off the boat -self wrote with more vulnerability and less vocabulary. Strange, because it is embarrassingly raw, but it works.

In a way, I'm right where I started in July 15th 2008. I live in the same neighborhood, although it's almost unrecognizable.

Many of the landmarks and people who were part of my universe have left or relocated, and so has the Hope, and Change that were very present in those days.

Small bars and eclectic music scenes were rammed by tattooed soccer moms with double strollers. Now I'm one of those, no tattoos, though.

Instead of focusing on the decay, global and personal challenges I'll try to channel that romantic, younger vibe, jump-start my ancient crush on The Big City.

At the turn of a decade, a new chapter. Or at least a fresh post.