I gave in and bought a train ticket to Gone West City. I felt trapped in Universe City, and I had to get out. The train left at 9 am, so I thought, to be safe, I would take the bus that passed my house at 7:59 am rather than waiting for the one at 8:29.
I was out at the bus stop at 7:56, but no bus came, neither while I was walking to it nor while I waited.
At 8:07 I started walking toward the next stop. And then the next. At the third stop, I found a schedule, which said that the first Sunday bus came by at 9:20.
I shifted my bag from one shoulder to the other, bent my head into the journey, and started walking, cursing Universe City all the way.
On the train, when I saw the first street that I could definitively say was in Gone West City, I had to fight tears. I was choked up all through the familiar streets, past the restaurant where we celebrated my new job, under the bridge on which I used to ride my bike to work. Three years ago, this was the city that gave me hope during my miserable days in the middle of nowhere in South Sudan. I was going to move here and put down roots. I was going to build a career and date boys. I was going to make friends and find a home.
And then the economy tanked. The job I wanted - the job I have - hasn't opened up here in two years, and it won't open up for at least a year or two, maybe longer if the downward plunge of funding continues. I wanted to do this job - I want to do this job - and so I moved. It is a minor thing, in the big picture, such a minor thing. There are people without any job at all. There are people afraid that they won't be able to buy school clothes for their kids. I just had to move from one city to another to do my dream job.
But all I keep thinking is, "I want to go home." Here in Gone West City, when the city train passed my apartment, I leaned against the window and thought, "I want to go home." I want this to be home.
I was out at the bus stop at 7:56, but no bus came, neither while I was walking to it nor while I waited.
At 8:07 I started walking toward the next stop. And then the next. At the third stop, I found a schedule, which said that the first Sunday bus came by at 9:20.
I shifted my bag from one shoulder to the other, bent my head into the journey, and started walking, cursing Universe City all the way.
On the train, when I saw the first street that I could definitively say was in Gone West City, I had to fight tears. I was choked up all through the familiar streets, past the restaurant where we celebrated my new job, under the bridge on which I used to ride my bike to work. Three years ago, this was the city that gave me hope during my miserable days in the middle of nowhere in South Sudan. I was going to move here and put down roots. I was going to build a career and date boys. I was going to make friends and find a home.
And then the economy tanked. The job I wanted - the job I have - hasn't opened up here in two years, and it won't open up for at least a year or two, maybe longer if the downward plunge of funding continues. I wanted to do this job - I want to do this job - and so I moved. It is a minor thing, in the big picture, such a minor thing. There are people without any job at all. There are people afraid that they won't be able to buy school clothes for their kids. I just had to move from one city to another to do my dream job.
But all I keep thinking is, "I want to go home." Here in Gone West City, when the city train passed my apartment, I leaned against the window and thought, "I want to go home." I want this to be home.
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