Home
Elena Zhang I feel the draft of the wind as it blows through the smoky London streets, the blue-gray sky radiates above me, as the sun sets behind the framework of buildings. chatter drifts from the patrons of a bar into outside ears. and behind tinted windows and between busy stations, the smiles and laughter of hundreds cast frenzied peace into the silence of the night. the clatter of plates clink in the distance as the waiters set each patron’s plate onto the candlelit table, reverberating all the chatter resonating within each soul. a moment of profound empathy upon each smiling face. yet no one can see the affliction inside each person’s eyes, the softness of the draft that emits from this crowd is apparent. across the world, I’m back in the New York City streets, the sounds of rush hour traffic on the I-495 casting tension for each and every car, scrambling to get back home. the bustling nightlife of Manhattan excites souls in each and every nook of the city, tucking all the uneasy souls into an assured slumber. with the sun just below the horizon, sparkling with the final brightness of day, the hums of eastern Queens makes its way through my open car window. in the back of an old minivan with nine amazing people by my side, our warm laughter echo through the city streets. when these people are better than the nightlife, I don’t think it will matter where or what we eat tonight. in this moment, I feel a heartfelt sliver of belonging. this is my home. |