As I stepped out of the airport I could feel the humidity hit me straight in the face. It was like slamming into a wall of hot, humid, sweaty air. My hoodie and boots made me look foreign next to all the others. I had arrived in Miami.
For the past 4 months I have thought of nothing but my “birthday – thanksgiving” vacation. Every year around my birthday I think of nothing but going away on vacation. My birthday give to myself. This year I was to go to Santo Domingo, Boca Chica, and then Miami to visit my family for Thanksgiving. This vacation is meant to relax me from all the problems encountered throughout the working year. A ventilation from it all. To my surprise, as i arrived home, all I could think about was how “chimi” was doing back in the Bronx. I had spoken to my family earlier and told them of my arrival but to my surprise there was no one at the airport to pick me up. Something felt strange.
I took a cab home and on the way called my mother. She informed me that she was working and so was my brother. In the past my mother would be the first one there. She would show up with my brother, uncle, grandmother, dog, dog’s girlfriend, and any other family member they could possibly dig up to come see me at the airport. She would be holding some kind of sign and yelling from across the airport – “hijo!!!!”. In my trips returning home from school upstate I would dread moments like these. Today, however…I missed them.
Home seemed like a far away place. Sundays at my house were spent playing domino, talking loudly to each other, drinking Coronas while Willy Chirino played in the background. I could still hear my mother yell out into the back yard – “oye vengan a comer lechon, que se esta poniendo frio” My brother and I would shrug and laugh with each other. This time however, those moments were not more.
As I sat at the dinner table this Thanksgiving, I realized that my family was beginning to move on. From the moments where everything seemed okay. From the moments where everybodys bullshit was not brought home to the dinner table. From the moments that brought us closer. They had all gone about their lives: My brother would soon find a girl, marry her, and make her pregnant. My mother had gone back to school to become a US citizen. My father had opened another business and would now work another 100 hours a week on top of the 300 hours he already works. My uncle had grown his business and now we saw less and lesss of him. Any my grandmother, how I love her, had been captured by the hand of time. I yern now to go back to those moments where home was home. Where at any given moment I could say that returning back was what I wanted to do. That I would still have my old room. My old friends. My old family.
I return back now to New York with only a distant memory of those moments and the hopes that I will find the home I yearn for here in new york city.