(no subject)
last week when i was getting prepped for my surgery, my anesthesiologist was telling me how he'd previously worked with one of my surgeons from MGH. even though i was at one of the best hospitals in the world, being seen by doctors at the top of their field, that nod toward boston made me feel safer. it was a notion that i wrapped myself in as i felt the propophol crawl up my arm. (i think i might've tried to high five my doctor too)
i was raised on Long Island, New York was always "the city". When it came time to choose where to go to college I decided I wanted to move to Boston. I didn't want to commute to school (i lived about 45 minutes outside "the city") but I knew I wanted to be in a city. I'd heard about Emerson, went to visit, and fell in love. I remember the first time I visited, in Feb of 96, it was freezing out, there was ice everywhere and i felt sort of numb. My grandmother had just passed away, it was me, my dad, and two friends who were interviewing at Harvard and Wellesley respectively. We got to our hotel (a howard johnson's that sort of bordered the now defunct combat zone) and just wandered around and i felt like it was the start of something.
a few months later, i was walking down boylston street with my newly minted classmate/boyfriend. he was from rural maine, the type of rural where his graduating class was 19 people from probably 19 different towns, whereas I had graduated with 500 people from one town. we were exploring, figuring out where T stops were, where the best video rental places were in respect to our dorm. I remember hitting Copley and both of us just stopped to take it in. Almost simultaneously he said "it's so big" while I said "it's so tiny". we laughed at the differences in our experiences and expectations.
while I was raised on Long Island, I grew up in Boston (i am still growing). In no order, I made friends based on common interests vs physical proximity. i joined a bunch of mailing lists, i started going to clubs with regularity, eventually had the honor of djing at said clubs, i put holes and ink in my skin as a way to further claim it, make it my own. i did dumb things, i did smart things, i primarily met brilliant people. i did more dumb things. i trainwrecked my life and then dug myself out from the resultant ditch. i got a cat, it ran away. eventually i got another cat. we had a lot of parties. i met a boy. honestly i met a decent amount of boys. i fell in love. i got my heart broken. i worked in a record store and ended up on the local news after a radio dj freaked out about a tasteless statue of elvis. i got to see the fountain in copley full of bubbles. i walked around with 2 of my dearest friends singing tori amos and the cure at 4am, a feeble attempt to stay warm. i went to baseball games. i went to deli haus, a lot. i worked at urban outfitters and hated my job but loved riding my bike passed the neco wafer plant at night; the air thick with the smell of sugar. i went to a lot of coffee houses. i moved to england. i moved back. i missed england. i got a job, got married, got sick, got diagnosed, got treatment, i kept going. i discovered a whole host of things from flow arts, Anonymous, making jewelry, rising fish, geckos, frogs...i felt utterly alone, i felt completely loved. i fell out of love with the city. it felt small, i felt suffocated. i moved to los angeles. i love the energy of los angeles but i missed the people from boston something terrible, even people i hadn't spoken to in years, even people who don't like me. the amount of love i feel for the residents of boston, the people whose lives touched mine, has never wavered, regardless of my feelings of the city.
watching the news over the past 24 hours, i find comfort seeing shots of the streets that are not blood soaked, of hearing bahston accents, i got teary eyed when the yankees played sweet caroline, i got teary when i saw copley, and i was just overwhelmed by how defensive i felt for -my- city and by how much love i felt. i've cried. a lot.
(though i have to admit it's fucking alien to see people wearing winter coats)
i was raised on Long Island, New York was always "the city". When it came time to choose where to go to college I decided I wanted to move to Boston. I didn't want to commute to school (i lived about 45 minutes outside "the city") but I knew I wanted to be in a city. I'd heard about Emerson, went to visit, and fell in love. I remember the first time I visited, in Feb of 96, it was freezing out, there was ice everywhere and i felt sort of numb. My grandmother had just passed away, it was me, my dad, and two friends who were interviewing at Harvard and Wellesley respectively. We got to our hotel (a howard johnson's that sort of bordered the now defunct combat zone) and just wandered around and i felt like it was the start of something.
a few months later, i was walking down boylston street with my newly minted classmate/boyfriend. he was from rural maine, the type of rural where his graduating class was 19 people from probably 19 different towns, whereas I had graduated with 500 people from one town. we were exploring, figuring out where T stops were, where the best video rental places were in respect to our dorm. I remember hitting Copley and both of us just stopped to take it in. Almost simultaneously he said "it's so big" while I said "it's so tiny". we laughed at the differences in our experiences and expectations.
while I was raised on Long Island, I grew up in Boston (i am still growing). In no order, I made friends based on common interests vs physical proximity. i joined a bunch of mailing lists, i started going to clubs with regularity, eventually had the honor of djing at said clubs, i put holes and ink in my skin as a way to further claim it, make it my own. i did dumb things, i did smart things, i primarily met brilliant people. i did more dumb things. i trainwrecked my life and then dug myself out from the resultant ditch. i got a cat, it ran away. eventually i got another cat. we had a lot of parties. i met a boy. honestly i met a decent amount of boys. i fell in love. i got my heart broken. i worked in a record store and ended up on the local news after a radio dj freaked out about a tasteless statue of elvis. i got to see the fountain in copley full of bubbles. i walked around with 2 of my dearest friends singing tori amos and the cure at 4am, a feeble attempt to stay warm. i went to baseball games. i went to deli haus, a lot. i worked at urban outfitters and hated my job but loved riding my bike passed the neco wafer plant at night; the air thick with the smell of sugar. i went to a lot of coffee houses. i moved to england. i moved back. i missed england. i got a job, got married, got sick, got diagnosed, got treatment, i kept going. i discovered a whole host of things from flow arts, Anonymous, making jewelry, rising fish, geckos, frogs...i felt utterly alone, i felt completely loved. i fell out of love with the city. it felt small, i felt suffocated. i moved to los angeles. i love the energy of los angeles but i missed the people from boston something terrible, even people i hadn't spoken to in years, even people who don't like me. the amount of love i feel for the residents of boston, the people whose lives touched mine, has never wavered, regardless of my feelings of the city.
watching the news over the past 24 hours, i find comfort seeing shots of the streets that are not blood soaked, of hearing bahston accents, i got teary eyed when the yankees played sweet caroline, i got teary when i saw copley, and i was just overwhelmed by how defensive i felt for -my- city and by how much love i felt. i've cried. a lot.
(though i have to admit it's fucking alien to see people wearing winter coats)