I lived with my mom in a Queens Tudor home for 18 years of my life. We were comfortable in a lot of ways, but, like most things, you don’t realize what you have until it’s gone. Portland is a peculiar white haven, and I come from a melting pot that smells like urine year-round. Both are good, but very different.
I’m overstating how comfortable my life was back home. The mornings never were, as I have an enduring hatred for waking up and rushing to get things done before 7:30am. There were also various cultural dynamics at my competitive high school that did not make for a cozy experience, so I never got used to feeling cozy, necessarily, in any space that I was in.
The only aspect of my life that was truly pleasant was the time I spent with my mom. During the week I saw her in the mornings and evenings. Together we’d each get ready to head out to work and school, respectively. Up at 6am, the two of us. Grab a banana. Rush for the 6:40am bus to catch the 6:45am train. If we were lucky enough to spot one, we’d rush to the nearest seat and then awkwardly have to decide which of us got to take it. The evenings were equally chaotic. Rides back home were long and the cars stuffy, so, naturally, weekends were my favorite.
On Friday nights we’d head to Brooklyn and watch a movie. I got into the habit of smuggling in macadamias and blueberries. We’d frequent quaint shops in the morning and head to Flushing for HotPot in the afternoon.
My weekends have changed significantly since coming to Reed. And nearly every experience that I have here is more educational than enjoyable. If my life were a neverending autumn weekend, I’d be fine with that. Still, I’m pleased to have thrown myself into a space and culture that is wildly different. Cheers to those of you who actively seek discomfort in your daily lives; it’s not easy.