Moving to Boston

When my mom told me that her and my dad would be moving to Boston, I wasn’t quite sure what to say. Congratulations? Better luck next time? I wasn’t completely surprised. My dad is finally coming home after working in China for several years, and HQ for his company is in Boston. It had been discussed as a move back possibility maybe a year ago. Ironically, I had been talking to my sister about my dad coming home earlier that week, and I had mentioned that I didn’t think my mom would move to Boston, but apparently I was wrong.

I wasn’t really sure how this affects me. Really, it only means I’m in Boston for those 5 weeks a year during breaks instead of Houston. It certainly means a lot less than the 50 I would have spend had we moved when I was in high school.

It means I don’t know where to say I’m from anymore. The line I’ve been using is that I’m not sure what to tell people when they ask me where I’m from. Well, I’m not really from Houston anymore because I don’t live there anymore and don’t like it. I have as much of an attachment to Boston as I do to Camelot. And I haven’t lived in Toronto for over 10 years. Maybe I’m from Houbosto? That sounds like a bad chili sauce.

I know my mom is happy that they’ll be closer to Toronto. Instead of it being a planned air flight, it’s a flexible day drive. That probably, hopefully, means we’ll be making trips back to Canada over break to see family. And I can get my crunchie, coffee crisp, and win gums refilled regularly.

I don’t leave Houston entirely cold-hearted. I’ll miss the Tex-Mex. And maybe I’ll miss the people, too, some. The flurry of FB messages for my birthday made me remember everyone who I left behind hwen I left for college. Whether the loud guy in my history class or my fellow tuba drill instructor or just someone I was around a lot, there are many people who I depend on breaks to see again. Quarters mean I’m rarely around when most of them are, but I realize it’s always worth the effort to see someone again.

I guess my general difficulty to come up with more meaningful consequences either means that I can see about as far as Mr. Magoo, or that it won’t affect me too much. The first was certainly true when I moved from Toronto to Houston. To an elementary school kid, an extra baseball season means a lot more than culture, quality of schooling, or availability of good dim sum. It doesn’t seem like I miss a lot of things until they’re already gone. For example, I thought being in the same room as Lee for the summer would be fine. And mostly, it has. I anticipated having less space, which is okay. Now, I miss being able to shift in bed. We learned the first night our bunked beds are held together by some variant of jello, so even turning over results in a lot of shaking and irritation for the other.

But back to moving, the only appropriate response would seem to be to savor the present and get excited for change. Switching from a PC to a Mac has made me realize that there’s another way. Starting to brush my teeth with my left hand was good. Listening to podcasts instead of 30 Rock means I get fresh content. Most relevantly, going to school on the west coast has been a great experience, and I can’t imagine I would have been exposed to so much had I stayed in Texas for school. Even as things change, though, I have to appreciate the way things are. My high school computer science teacher once told me that each year of your life should be better than the last. It’s a great way to live, but a good chunk of having a better year is having had a last one.

(edit: oops. some bad pasting resulted in a half invisible double post there)

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  1. Pingback: My Childhood Home

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