A Song*

I'm leaving today

Living it, leaving it to change

Slowly drifting into a peaceful breeze

Tongue tied, twisted are all my memories

Celebrating a fantasy come true

Packing all my bags finally on the move

I'm leaving today

I'm living it, leaving it to change

As I'm driving I'm captured by the view

Of so much beauty, the road becomes my muse

The heat is rising and my head soars through the wind

Cool, calm, collective is a child that's lost within

I'm leaving today

I'm living it, I'm leaving it to change

I'm leaving today

I'm living it, I'm leaving it to change

But somehow I'm missing

I think I really miss it one day

Turn down the radio

And I'm feeling like I've never felt before

Turn down the memories of yesteryears and broken dreams

I'm free, finally free

Slowly drifting into a peaceful breeze

I'm leaving today

I'm living it, leaving it to change

See I'm leaving today

I'm living it, I'm leaving it to change

I'm leaving today (I'm leaving it to change)

Living it, I'm leaving it to change

Living it, leaving it

Said I'm living it, leaving it

Living it, leaving it to change

(I'm leaving it to change)

But somehow I miss it

I think I really miss it

One day

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*Cruz by Cristina Aguilera

Emphasis on my exact sentiments about moving out of the city I had called home away from home.

I was reminded of my sentiments about leaving Chicago earlier today when while waiting to reach my floor in the elevator, a young Caucasian lady overheard my small talk with one of the residents. It was quite obvious from the "welcome", "let me know if you need help", "you'll get use to things" that I was the newbie. The woman eventually asked: "So where did you move from?"

"Chicago." I say simply, although I actually left the "Chicago-area" to be more precise.

"Oh, where from Chicago?" she replied. The way she pronounced the city tells me she has called it home at one point (more like a Shee, rather than a Chi for the first syllable; Yes, I've assimilated well enough to distinguish the native Chicagoans). And I was right. Or almost. She said she was there for 10 years but moved because her husband got re-assigned (a native friend of mine once said if you've lived in the city for at least 5 years, you're a convert).

After a bit more chit-chat, I reached my destination and she said: "Good luck. I feel your pain."

I never said it was a painful move. Nor do I think being here now is a pain. But I know exactly what she meant.