I’ve refrained from writing about this for quite some time because if I’m being honest, I didn’t understand what I was feeling. All I really know is that I feel what I feel, and that’s enough of a reason for me to put it down on paper (or more like screen).
When I was 17 years old, I toured Northeastern University in Boston, MA. The second I walked onto Northeastern’s campus I knew it’s where I wanted to go to college. I had toured a decent amount of schools at that point, but none felt the way Northeastern did. I kept waiting for the moment when I would know. People would tell me that the moment would come when I would know that I was at the right school just by the way it felt.
Northeastern had that feeling written all over it.
Boston is a city that I’ve always wanted to live in. I can remember going to Faneuil Hall when I was a young girl and thinking, “I want to live here when I’m older.” I don’t exactly know what it is about the city that I love so much. It’s probably a combination of a bunch of little things. Like how I grew up only 45 minutes outside of it. How I would take trips there when I was young and it always felt magical. How it’s quaint yet still a city but not an overwhelming one at that. How it’s a place so many people I love have a connection to and know.
I’ve traveled to a solid amount of cities and countries at this point in my life. None of them feel the way Boston does. When I studied abroad in college, I savored every second I was there. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was suppose to leave it all behind at the end of my journey and go back home to the States. I remember thinking to myself, “But this isn’t a vacation for me. This is where my soul feels alive and free.”
Yet the day I flew home from Prague, I had a layover in Heathrow, London. My connecting flight was supposed to take off 45 minutes after I landed. If you know Heathrow Airport, you know it’s not small. Needless to say, I was sprinting through the airport to catch my flight. Luckily, a man was planted on my track race and handed me a neon orange express pass that I could flash at any airport personnel and get preferential treatment for the sake of time.
I was beyond thankful for that pass because I had a fear I would miss my flight, and I did not want that to happen.
By the grace of God, I didn’t miss my flight. When I reached my gate, everyone except one man had boarded the plane. I was one of the very last people. He saw me running, and when I finally stopped, he looked at me and said, “Going home?”
I will never forget him saying those words. I teared up and replied, “I’m going home,” with a certainty and calmness behind each syllable I uttered.
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There is no city in the world like Boston. I have a visceral connection to it. I also have an incredibly complex relationship with it.
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Long story short, I was denied from Northeastern University. Finding that out was one of the lowest points of my life. I had busted my ass for four years so that when it came time to go to college, I could pick where I wanted to go, not feel like I had to choose from a list of where I could get in.
But college admissions is a game. It wasn’t in my control whether I got accepted or not. 50,000 people had applied for the 2015 school year. They were accepting 2,000. The odds were never in my favor. That’s just the truth.
More so, the thought of not going to school in Boston tore me to shreds. I couldn’t imagine myself at UMass Amherst in the middle of Western Massachusetts. I had no interest of going until going was my reality.
If I’m being honest, Northeastern University is still my dream school. If I could do it all over again (and if I were accepted), I would pick Northeastern. UMass gave me more than I think I’ll ever really know, but it never felt like how Northeastern did. Not even close.
So, after college, when I was free to pick where I wanted to live, of course, I chose Boston. There was no question where I was going. It was the city I had waited so much of my life to live in, and I was finally going to live out those dreams.
In September 2019, I moved into an apartment with one of my best friends in South Boston. It was the start of a new chapter. We were beyond excited and ready to be city-living.
Until everything under the sun went wrong with that apartment, and we moved out two weeks later.
Let’s just say, I felt so defeated. To experience such polarizing emotions in such a short amount of time was taxing and draining. I thought I had lost my shot at living in the city. All the decor, money, time, and effort felt like a complete waste.
“Why does this city not want me? Why does it always feel too good to be true?” is all I could think when we moved out.
Thankfully, our situation turned around, and my roommate and I moved back into the city a few months later. We found a much better accommodation in an apartment complex in South Boston, and restarted our journey. On a better foot. On a better note. This was our time.
Until four months later, Covid-19 shut the world down. Our big, bad city-living plans turned into bedroom-bound dreams overnight, and everything we had hoped to do and see never happened.
Which brings me to my complex.
I’m not sure if I’m ever supposed to live in Boston, Massachusetts. Based on my run in with that city, it seems like I am meant to appreciate it from an arm’s length away. It feels like it’s a place I am meant to visit and always find beauty in, but perhaps living there just isn’t in my cards.
Living with that knowledge causes a contortion of emotions in me that feels impossible to explain. How do you love something so much and feel like you’re meant to stay away from it at the same time?
My best guess is that Boston is a lesson. I feel as though it is always meant to be a place I go back to and love. That it will always contain a feeling of home and security and radiate my dreams.
But what I need— what is meant for me— is not there. It’s elsewhere. I feel like I’ve known this for quite some time, but I’ve refused to fully accept it because my love for that city is so grand. I always wanted it to work out.
And that’s the lesson: You can love something from a distance.
Boston, you are my favorite city in the world. I suspect you’ll always be. I don’t think there’s ever been a time I’ve seen your skyline or the Citgo sign and not thought to myself, “God, I love this place.” But I also know deep down that your efforts to release me have been intentional. You were always doing what’s been best for me, and because of that, I thank you.
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