My Real Home

As I sit here eating post-Halloween discount candy (yeah, still) and looking at some couple month old pictures on my Instagram, I figure, now that I have this blog, i’ll talk a little about this, because why not? And while I talk about this, i’ll try not to sound overly-nostalgic. This is really more of a reflection type deal. So i’ll try my best to keep it as such.

My grandfather passed away back in December, the week of Christmas. It was a hectic week to say the least. Sunday – his passing, Monday – Having to buy a suit, Tuesday – the wake, Wednesday – the funeral, Thursday – Christmas Eve, Friday – Christmas Day, Saturday and Sunday – Bleh. After that, we spent January, February and a little bit of March cleaning out and renovating his and my grandmother’s house, which I spent the first 2 years of my life living in and the last 23 years of it visiting all the time. A lot of memories lie there in that house, as well as many other places in Brooklyn. I moved out here to Staten Island with my parents when I was 3. Being a naive kid and teenager, I never really pondered how much I love and feel I belong in Brooklyn. Not until the last 4 years, I would say has that really hit me. Especially now after all this.

This past August my grandmother died as well, after suffering from Alzheimer’s for the last few years. The week she passed was almost a rerun of the week my grandfather did. It was just as rough and we held the wake and funeral at the same place. It took some time, but not too long after that I realized that there was no going back to that house again, because there’s nothing there anymore. It’s a pretty unsettling notion once it sets in, but it’s a fact we must accept. I guess that’s what comes with getting older and realizing shit. Well, here’s where it really sets in. While at my grandmother’s wake, I was sitting outside with my brother and a close friend of my cousin’s and I told them about how I want to one day move back to Brooklyn, but the problem is that it’s unfathomably expensive just to live out there. Which is true, in fact, Brooklyn was recently named the most unaffordable housing market in America. In the fucking entire country. That isn’t surprising for a city like New York, but still quite an accomplishment.

Now, I don’t have any desire to own a fucking two-three story HOUSE. I never did and probably never will. All I really care for is an apartment to myself. I have no desire to ever get married and certainly NO desire to ever have any children, and I give no shits about having anything fancy or anything other than food, a computer, music and a car. I was never a materialistic person and never will be. So an apartment is all I need. Once again, however, the more time goes by and the more property value rises, even that may become a faint reality. I can accept that if I have to, but i’ll always feel like I belong in that city. It’s where I was born and where my roots are. Again, I don’t mean to sound too nostalgic, this is just something I thought i’d give a quick piece on because it was on my mind. Brooklyn is my real home. New York is my home. I understand why many don’t like it. It is ridiculously populated and full of assholes (me included), but I just can’t picture myself anywhere else. So i’m glad I have those memories and the history that I do, and even if money gets in the way, the truth won’t. I belong to NYC.

That’s pretty much it. Just some chocolate-fuled thoughts to filter out tonight. I’ll leave those pictures that I have here to look at (my header image included), because why not? I took them throughout last year and this year. They’re not the best quality but they’re from my shitty phone, so what else would you expect?

So there. That’ll be all the useless rambiling for today. ‘Till next time.



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