The Runaway Cook

This morning, I woke up in my apartment at 6:15am. Falling asleep was tough. However, waking up even more difficult, not because I was tired, which I was, but because my room was no longer mine. All my belongings, all the silly little signs of “home,” were missing, boxed up, and sitting in the living room. I will miss you apartment with no kitchen, room with no door, hole in the shower wall that I fixed with weatherproof duck tape, and toilet that doesn’t like to flush.

For the past few days, I have been mourning my departure, not just from this apartment, but from Rhode Island. As much as I complain about this place and spout off about getting out of here, I’m not ready for that. I love that Thai place that is a 30 minute walk from my apartment. I feel warm just thinking about the Indian food and cute Indian cooks and servers at Rosoi. I love that I know where to get home made ice cream, a cheap beer, chicken salad that’s second only to my mother’s, gorgeous eclectic jewelry, perfect bubble tea, and the best and worst service in town. I adore the places that have become mine. I’m afraid I just don’t want to leave anymore.

I have become as frond of Providence as I am of my friends. I get it now, you can’t love where you live until you get to know it first. It’s like dating. At first impression, he seems alluring: cocky, strong, odd, or even shy. Whatever the attraction, you are caught. Right now you only know part of who he is, a small fraction of the whole picture, but as time passes you know more. Then comes the part where things get sort of uncomfortable. You find differences from what you have know or what you want, you have to chose to either embrace these or let go of the annoyance for the relationship to work. Your fondness blossoms and love grows. You realize you still only know a fraction of the whole picture and you want to find out what the whole picture is . . .see the whole map . . .Sigh. . .My time here is so unfinished. I have so many places to visit and things to try. I can’t leave now; so much is yet to be discovered.

The sad part is I can’t stay. It’s like I’ve caught all these lightning bugs and for a while they hover in my cupped palms, but I can’t keep them. For a time they are mine. Though, for life to continue, we have to separate. They fly away to new places and I walk on. Friends leave, following their own paths. We float in and out of each other’s lives. I guess it’s good that my apartment no longer looks or feels like home. All the easier to follow the path leading to a new place with other glowing floaters. . . and maybe some of the same ones too.