Not because I won’t miss Mami. On the contrary, I’ve envisioned myself looking out a window, phoning her multiple times a day to chat about my escapades. I will miss the smell of sazon that envelops every inch of our three-bedroom apartment and the odor of oregano that sticks to my clothing for days. I will long for her hearty laugh and her sweet tone when she says, “Bueno mi hija…” This I cannot deny. Still, I am excited to be free of New York City and my neighborhood of Washington Heights. I look forward to strolling down the street without headphones. Because I won’t need to block the piropos I hear daily from the men that loiter on corners. At least, not in West Hollywood. I am thrilled to escape the confines of my bedroom, or “the dungeon” as I nicknamed it last month. The purple color of the walls no longer brings richness into the room. Instead, the room feels dark and somber. Toiletries and small decorative pieces have been packed in boxes for months, even before I knew where I was heading. That’s because it’s time for me to go.
