I’m so lazy when it comes to updating this blog of mine. Don’t know why, but I’m always lethargic when it comes to me talking about myself, not to mention writing about myself. I know if ever I do become famous, I’m never going to sit and write my biography. I won’t even want to read it. Biographies are never meant for writers. Sure, a statesman, a holder of public office, a celebrity, or someone of notoriety can pen a biography, and who wouldn’t want to read about them. Look at how many biographies have been written on Elvis and the Beatles already . . . but not for writers. I don’t want to read J.K. Rowland’s biography and hear her mention where she was or what she was doing when the idea for Harry Potter came to her. That’s dumb. So, for those who do get a chance to stop by here, forgive my lateness, and let me resume from where I stopped . . .
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It’s a strange and surreal feeling when you’re landing in JFK airport in New York. Hearts drumming, yet trying to maintain poise even as the plane’s wheels touched the tarmac and rolled toward the terminal 4 building and then we all filed out. Always a lengthy queue in there, especially in the tourism section, but that’s to be expected. Everybody dressed for the summer . . . except me, of course. I doubt if I was dressed at all for anything. Just couldn’t wait to get past Homeland security and see what the country looks like outside the airport.
I did eventually walk past the front doors, and that was when I got a shock of reality: I’d made it! I’d made it into a new world. Everything looked so different. Hard to explain for an American to understand, but for someone coming from where I did, you wouldn’t understand and I can’t find the words to express the joy, happiness, sadness and awe that rolled through my gut as I walked toward a taxi. It won’t be the first time, but right then, it might as well could have been.
I’d quit my job back home and now I was in the land of sharks. It was either sink or swim from here on, and trust me when I say that nothing ever really prepares you for this. Africa felt like a distant planet from where I was. No way to communicate with anyone back home, and even if I wanted to, I doubt they were going to give me any good news.
My friend still lived in the building I’d visited him last time in Mount Vernon. Though it wasn’t a happy reunion this time around.