Home pt. 2
Howdy,
I was born in the small town of Rahway, New Jersey. I grew up there, going back and forth to New York, visiting my cousins in Brooklyn, running wild through the metropolitan streets. My family has never been wealthy, but I never knew that when I was a kid. Growing up in Jersey, we had everything. We had our neighbors, our families, our block party BBQ's that stunk up the small houses.
When my parents told us we were moving to Texas, we didn't fight the idea. We saw horses and cowboys on TV. To us, Texas would be nothing short of a riot. What we didn't understand is that Texas was final. Texas was our new home. Moving to Texas meant leaving New Jersey. Through this misunderstanding brewed a deep, visceral hatred for Texas. It didn't help that we were introduced to racism, scalding heat, and having to pump our own gas here. It took a very long time for me to even like Texas. It wasn't until I was given my dad's old truck did I start to learn about where I lived.
When I was 20, I was offered a job at a bank in the One Houston building in Downtown Houston. I would spend hours driving from ward to ward, discovering these bits of Houston that you couldn't see in the faraway suburbs. Eventually, I started working at an education-based non-profit named Writers in the Schools. I met artists and writers who looked like me, talked like me, wore the same tattered clothes that I did. They liked my music, liked my hair, told me that I was a writer too, though I didn't believe them.
Through those experiences, I began to love Texas. I began to claim Texas as my home. By shedding my fear and letting go of unfortunate circumstances, I was able to find my place in this state. No matter where I move, Texas will always be my other home.
Best,
Jess
I was born in the small town of Rahway, New Jersey. I grew up there, going back and forth to New York, visiting my cousins in Brooklyn, running wild through the metropolitan streets. My family has never been wealthy, but I never knew that when I was a kid. Growing up in Jersey, we had everything. We had our neighbors, our families, our block party BBQ's that stunk up the small houses.
When my parents told us we were moving to Texas, we didn't fight the idea. We saw horses and cowboys on TV. To us, Texas would be nothing short of a riot. What we didn't understand is that Texas was final. Texas was our new home. Moving to Texas meant leaving New Jersey. Through this misunderstanding brewed a deep, visceral hatred for Texas. It didn't help that we were introduced to racism, scalding heat, and having to pump our own gas here. It took a very long time for me to even like Texas. It wasn't until I was given my dad's old truck did I start to learn about where I lived.
When I was 20, I was offered a job at a bank in the One Houston building in Downtown Houston. I would spend hours driving from ward to ward, discovering these bits of Houston that you couldn't see in the faraway suburbs. Eventually, I started working at an education-based non-profit named Writers in the Schools. I met artists and writers who looked like me, talked like me, wore the same tattered clothes that I did. They liked my music, liked my hair, told me that I was a writer too, though I didn't believe them.
Through those experiences, I began to love Texas. I began to claim Texas as my home. By shedding my fear and letting go of unfortunate circumstances, I was able to find my place in this state. No matter where I move, Texas will always be my other home.
Best,
Jess
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