Suburbia

I moved a lot.

In my youth, I was always on the move. From town, to city, from state to country, there was never a moment of pause from my life-long journey to nowhere. I never bothered to make friends, or be friendly for that matter, because I knew that no matter what happened I would always be able to leave everything behind and start over again. However, a part of me still yearned for a settled, boring life. I wanted to make life long friends, I wanted memories and inside jokes and to go to special places that I shared with someone, and I wanted a single, stationary location that I could call a home. I wanted to end the journey. So when it finally seemed that I would get exactly that, I made the most of it. I made memories, strangers became friends who then became family, and we made inside jokes that we’d laugh to as we gazed up at the stars together and told each other our deepest secrets. I never bothered to make friends, or be friendly for that matter but the new friends I’ve made broke me out of my shell, made me vulnerable, and then cared for me. With them I felt a sense of community and togetherness that I didn’t even feel with my own family. For once in my life I felt happy. Truly happy and deeply happy. And then, all at once, the foundations of that happiness crumbled and fell, leaving me empty and hollow as I was pulled back onto the road and to yet another location.

I mentioned earlier that I had hopped countries. Well, Seoul was the place I lived before here, Lakewood. In my eyes, Seoul was the perfect city. All of my friends were never too far away, and the streets winded together in such a way that every walk was sure to hold a surprise and an adventure. In the dead of night, my friends and I would drive through the empty streets with our windows down. Bathed in the night light of the city, I felt alive only when I was with them. The city seemed alive then. I felt as though the roads were her veins and that I was inside of something whole and beautiful and immortal. I met lovers, made enemies and burned my name onto the streets. If ever I fell in love in my youth, it would have been to the city of Seoul.

My happiness would last only two years before I was forced to fly back to the States, to Washington. Short, yes, but it was the memories that made it feel like an eternity. It would also be the memories that would lead me to hate the forested Washington roads and the mind numbing emptiness and the city-less night skies. I couldn’t bare how empty the horizon was; I felt like I was falling every time I looked up. It wasn’t that I hated Washington. It’s just that Washington wasn’t Seoul, and I knew it would never be. I knew I wouldn’t make the same friends or the same memories or have the same feelings.

In time, however, my feelings would change. I wasn’t sure whether it was the sunsets setting the the wispy clouds ablaze or the sea of stars that illuminated the night in a beautiful silver light or even the bubbly, loving people I spent those nights with, but I began to fall for the same forested roads and vast, open skies I once resented so much. Maybe it was the smoke rising from the lakes that were set afire in the morning light. Maybe it was the tranquil forest walks in comfortable silence. Though I did miss Seoul, the towering trees held an energy that the city lacked; they were more alive than the city ever could be, and I felt their energy resonate within me. I don’t want to sound cheesy or anything, but for the first time in my life I felt connected to my surroundings. I felt like I was a part of the world, and that the world was a part of me.