Freestylin\\\’

Ok, ok, ok.

I’m a huge pack rat. It’s not something that’s very flattering because I think it is linked to people who are overly sentimental and have separation deficiencies. The thing is, since I was very, very little, I have always wanted to be a writer — which I am not quite. I mean, I write, and I’ve been published, but that’s not really what my goal is. In kindergarten, I was even on NPR reading a story I wrote.

I’ve always wanted to be a columnist or writer for a fashion magazine. Or, since I’m older now, a lifestyle OR fashion magazine. I have archives and archives of magazines. But I also have archives upon archives of pieces of my life. To me, all my objects that I’ve collected tell a story. Like, I look up and I see two porcelain angels. They are separate, but the are both poised to kiss each other and you can make them make out. I’ve had these since childhood and remember looking at them when being forced to recite prayers every night, which reminds me of my struggles growing up Catholic without any choice.

My point is… writing, magazines… dream place is NYC. I imagine it to have stories upon stories around every corner. In fact, there is a historic hip hop album called 8 million stories, and it’s about New York City, and that’s where I wish I was living now. It’s my own fault I don’t live there. Upon the years I’ve procrastinated because I feared change, and I feared being away from my mother in case she died and regretting being so far away, but I see her like once every two months anyway.

Instead, I dated a man who lived in NYC, then we had a baby together. So instead of me moving to NYC, he moved here. So we’re both stuck here. But how I ache and long for it. Every time I’ve visited there I’ve felt happier than I have ever felt in my life, with the exception of certain moments with my son.

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