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Every new beginning

Every new begin­ning comes from some oth­er begin­nings end, yeah ! ‑Semi­son­ic, Clos­ing Time

That was the last karaōke song sang pri­or to my escape from Chica­go, which I got a 95100 score on. Yes, I’ve the beau­ti­ful singing voice of an angel. And Chica­go being my last begin­ning’s end, North Car­oli­na was the new one. My fam relo­cat­ed here in 2013, and dropped hints to pack up and flee the broke, cor­rupt, vio­lent and evil city. My dad, who is Kore­an Amer­i­can was a man of few words and sim­ply told me Get out of there there’s noth­ing for you there’ lol. Don’t hold back now.

Thus after my ini­tial vacay in July 2019, I suc­cess­ful­ly relo­cat­ed in August. On Fri­day, Aug 31st, 2019 I left the city at approx­i­mate­ly 6:30 am. Would of left ear­li­er had­n’t it been for my upstairs neigh­bor who want­ed my space age mat­tress. A nubian princess named Paris. Of course being a hero I had to assist a sin­gle black mom work­ing hard for the money.

I dri­ve like a bat out of hell. It’s a weird feel­ing, this. Like going on a extend­ed vacay and nev­er com­ing back. I was over­come with all kinds of thoughts and sen­sa­tions. The fact there would be no more win­ters (not real ones) was one. I did­n’t real­ize how bad­ly I’d miss Chica­go piz­za. They don’t know what legit piz­za even tastes like here in this entire state. I do miss Chica­go dri­ving, even if there were lots of cra­zies on the road. The peo­ple here dri­ve like stu­dent dri­vers, zero dri­ving intu­ition and cour­te­sies. My itin­er­ary was simple :

  • Chi to Indi­anapo­lis : 3.2 hrs
  • Indi­anapo­lis : rest 1 hr
  • Indi­anapo­lis to Lex­ing­ton : 2 hrs
  • Overnight at Rama­da inn
  • Lex­ing­ton to Asheville, NC : 3.2 hrs
  • overnight in crown roy­al plaza
  • Asheville to Chapel Hill : 3.2 hrs

Nev­er been to Indi­anapo­lis before, nev­er had any rea­son to. At most I’d go to the pho­ny beach of Bev­er­ly Shores in the Dunes. Every nature place in the mid­west has become a sad, pitiable joke to me. Most peo­ple back there would burn with envy at me now. And the crazy beau­ti­ful here, the gor­geous hik­ing trails and access to moun­tains or the sea. This place feels like a cross between Vir­gin Riv­er and Daw­son’s creek, with maybe a lit­tle Lord of the Rings thrown in the mix.

Thus I’ve begun this jour­ney of jour­nal­ing, a habit car­ried through­out my entire life. Usu­al­ly a pri­vate affair, a secret habit and pas­sion. Not born of nar­cis­sism, though. While that part is cer­tain­ly true, there’s always those who think oth­er­wise. No no no, nar­cis­sism is hav­ing Insta­gram. Hav­ing an entire town worth of strangers stalk­ing you. Des­per­ate for updates and fresh con­tent. Even though they knew your fake exis­tence was exact­ly this : unsus­tain­able. What it was instead was a keep­sake, a time cap­sule I could look back upon. The phan­tom limb of my cute soul.

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