What was I thinking? Is this the wrong place? I'm thinking of disposible cups of coffee and the New York Times. I'm thinking of the immigrant mentality. I always wondered why if a person left their home because the conditions were so bad they would miss it once they had settled into their new refuge. I knew that there was something to understand, I don't mean to say that it is silly for a person to miss a homeland torn-apart. But it goes against logic. It made my insides hurt. It made my insides grasp my other insides. I knew I had something to understand. The United states is a land of importation. We can find anything, we can have anything. Maybe all lands are lands of importation. It is in the veins of all the trade routes through history. And this has always been one of my greatest interests. Trade. Strange things. Imported things. To try to know the world outside, but still living in my world. The United States. Now I am outside of it. I am in the traditions. It's not just mean hearing about what the French do, or the Europeans, or any other culture I am close to by being close to those in my classes from those cultures. It is here. It is not imported. I am learning how to live by living, not learning how to live my learning.
But I miss the coffees, that feeling during classes when the coffee machine of the Starbucks is buzzing in the Union, the New York Times. I had nothing imperative for me to do. But there was the possibility of learning about the world. I felt like there was the world there. I miss that moment. I don't know where to go to get that moment now. I want to feel the world again in the coffee and the paper and the buzzing. That was last I fell in love.