ACCOZZAGLIA

Since getting home, it’s kinda evident that this low-grade depression lingers. And it only seems to magnify when I’m at home, which defeats the purpose of even having a home, really.

What’s the point of hanging your hat in a place you can call your own if you never want to be there? Is it cos I’m reminded of how shitty this flat is, no thanks to arguably the worst management “company” in this city? Is it because I dread turning on the water spigot every time, cos I’ll never really be sure if anything comes out? Is it the clutter of my workspace, or does overfamiliarity breed contempt in my life?

Maybe it has to do with the fact that I had only planned to be here for about two years, and now that we’re pushing five years here, it has become evident that this place was never, ever meant to be one where somebody stays put this long.

Perhaps this — along with our unrelenting recession, which has jaded so many hearts and has made skeptics out of the minds of many — is why I’m feeling so destitute.

*shrug*

I don’t really know.

Oddly, while I was spending the afternoon in Chicago Tuesday, I kept sensing that I actually liked the place — coming from a city which used to petrify me with abject fear, this was a profoundly insightful moment. I mean, here I was in a city in which I used to worry more about its crime and political corruption than I did to praise its large metro area, smashingly good public transportation, a real cultural patchwork quilt, a hub for transcontinental fight, perfect space for anonymity when one wants it and with no shortage of things to keep me busy.

But once I got home, I felt this sickly sense of overfamiliarity and a plethora of reminders why I have no business even being here.

Perhaps I’d feel differently if this were another day, but, well, it simply isn’t, despite knowing plenty of friendly, powerful, well-known and influential people that call this town home. Not that I ever planned it that way, but the course of events which shaped my presence here since 1997 got me mixed up with some very well-known names in the region. I cringe at the idea of name-dropping, and yet, it’d take zero effort for me to do so with people around here.

And that, in itself, is a scary thing.

In a way, though, I’ll look back at this as the period in my life when I came of age and discovered what I really wanted — for myself, my academic ventures, my career, my desires and for the path of things to follow.

I hate this. I’m ready to leave. Now.

Avni leaves in September for San Jose. And Sara will always be here — the in-state homebody she was always meant to be — but she’s out in IGH hell. We don’t see each other often, even though we’re really close. I guess that’s just the nature of our relationship.

But without V, my strongest pillar while surviving this place (and by her own conviction, I being her pillar here, too), I don’t even want to think of how hard it’s going to be to remain here for upwards to a year beyond that, once school begins in earnest. The sinking feeling in my sternum is perhaps the best barometer for my emotional state in such a situation.

I mentioned to someone the other day (and it escapes me who now) how I have the travelling virus, to which I later made reference here. Perhaps it’s part and parcel with two things: I’m exploring my options, while at the same time am highly inclined to either see people whom I haven’t seen in upwards to thirteen years or visit people whom I’ve only gotten to know in the last few years.

Whenever I visit a place that also happens to be the home of one of my friends, I place utmost priority to see those respective people. Sitting face to face with someone whom I not only know but can also implicitly trust, in a place otherwise unfamiliar to me, is perhaps one of the greatest pleasures of life.

It never fails. I mean, who really cares if this city has a world-renowned landmark, or that city is known for its preferred bevvy or dish? If I don’t know someone there, it kind of dampens the incentive of even being there.

Kinda like SF last May: had it not been for Michelle, Irene, Kara, Damien, Katharine, Adrian and Shannon, I wouldn’t have experienced a fraction of the fun I ended up having. I mean, sure, the microclimes there were sinfully delightful, and the culinary options were nothing short of breathtaking. And hey, even the public transit network was smashingly efficient, despite local complaints claiming the contrary.

But it’s that ability to see someone in person — in the flesh — to witness their infinite expressions and unique animated nature, that make the time spent away all the worthwhile. Without that, there’s no point in sticking around longer than that which is necessary.

Hanging out with Sonal and Jignasha in Ionia only confirmed this. After all, I have no business being in a place like that, without being chaperoned by people who’ll ensure my safety if need be. Between Sonal’s young, yet world-weary purview of this rural hell, and Jig’s restlessness from being stuck in such a sparsely-populated place — where people hook you up with the token Hispanic kid cos “both of ya are brown” — I found their company was what made the time there so … decent.

Anyhow, this all qualifies for digression. It wasn’t really meant to be taken with more than a grain of salt.

Bottom line?

It’s those people whom I consider important in my life that makes time spent somewhere worth it. And it’s certainly the only reason why I attend venues that tailor to a target market to which I do not belong. Such as the annual local sci-fi convention. I could care less about which discussion panels are being offered, but if I get to see three people, or even just one person I’d otherwise never see, then I’ll drop everything and go.

Period.

Okay. I’ve said enough about this already. Time to hush.

[music: nothing, but am thinking of Chicago's "Wishing You Were Here", cancelling out Peter Cetera's annoying whine 2/3 s the way through the song]