93 Til’ Infinity
Before we got to my grandma’s house, I stopped at the nearest gas station to get two Powerades. As I walked to the door, an older black gentleman approached it the same time I did. I held the door open and he smiled and said to me ‘can you hoop?’ as he air-gestured a follow thru shot referring to my Duke shorts and Duke shirt. I said I wish, and if I could, I’d be playing for Coach K right now. We laughed and parted ways as I told him to take care. This place always welcomes me back like we’ve never left each other before. Home is where the heart is, and trust me, I love it.
Durham, North Carolina. I’ve rang in my 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, and now my 25th birthday here. Out of all my previous birthdays in the Bull City, I only remember one vividly. We were living at the apartments before my Dad finished his post-doc from Duke and my parents had gifted me 2 Hot Wheels cars for my birthday. I remember playing and taking pictures in front of the steps leading to our apartment. What a joyous time, anything made me happy those days. It didn’t have to be tangible gifts either, it could be a simple wave from the neighbors or seeing a red sports car, I've always wanted one. Life was much simpler then than it is now. Hard to believe it’s been two decades since.
Upon walking into Grandma’s house, I’m greeted by her and Grandpa. We’re not blood-related, but the love we have for each other is family, so we treat our relationship as such. Life may not be fair, but time is a concept that maintains its equality to everyone through its progression. No one can elude the passage of time, it happens to everyone. Without time, there would be no life. It’s a sad realization that while you’re growing up, others are growing older. The smell of her house is something that will always stick with me, it’s a scent straight out of my early childhood. Some of my oldest memories I can remember date back to this place. She would look after me while my parents were busy making a better life for us. It’s important to document the people, places, and experiences, if not on paper, in your mind because understanding where you come from and what’s important to you will help you understand yourself, which in-turn will help you better understand others.
I’m still trying to understand myself and my life, which would explain why I write so often. Sometimes you get these writings, sometimes I keep them to myself. I take pictures as visual reminders because photography is magic, especially if you’re able to catch a candid. An honest moment of living, saved forever. That night as my mom talked with my grandparents, I spent time walking around the house, a house I used to roam back when I knew nothing about myself, not even my name. There were pictures everywhere. Framed in aged-wood, these memories are proof life can be a beautiful thing. Although there was one photo of my parents from the mid-2000’s, I didn’t recognize any if not all of the people in these photos. Regardless, I couldn’t stop observing. It’s something special about an aged photo, they age like fine wine. One frame held a local newspaper clipping from 1981 about their family, and the lineage they had built in Durham. Thinking back on how much I love Durham myself, I can only imagine what this place means to my grandma and grandpa.
Later in the night, when 12am hit, another year of my life was officially completed. What did I learn? Who did I meet? What experiences from this past year will I put in between aged-wooden frames? I thought of all the people I’ve met and moments we’ve shared. Burning letters outside my house with J. Breezy because I didn’t want to read and be reminded of things that happened the summer of 08’. Dates with past lovers and plans with current ones. Talking to Andrew on the phone in 4th grade as we watched Goku turn Super Saiyan 3 on Buu. Seeing Camille at the State Fair in 8th grade. Getting cut from the basketball team at Holly Ridge Middle by Mr. Moss. Seeing Isabella at Food Truck Friday summer of 15’. All these memories, and all these moments, most I don’t have a tangible account of, yet I miss. I thought hard only to come to conclusion—thru prior observation—that I only love things when I convince myself I miss them. I only miss them when I no longer have them. I’ve realized that for me letting go isn’t as much of an issue as gratitude when in possession. Time makes it seemingly impossible to rewind and relive things, but my life revolves around nostalgia, therefore if we’ve ever shared a moment together, we’ve shared a lifetime together.
Somewhere in between all my thoughts, realizations, and self-reflection, I fell asleep.
I woke up 10 minutes ago staring at a ceiling that connects 4 walls that I wish could talk. The first full day of 25, the first day of the rest of my life. It’s currently 7:04am, and I can hear my mom talking to my grandma. They’re laughing and catching up for all the time they’ve been away from each other, it’s music to my ears. The smell of nostalgia is in the air, but a new chapter of possibility awaits me. It’s not raining, but it’s gloomy out; my favorite. Things feel great, almost as if I haven’t stopped dreaming.
25.