Mystery Van

My grandpa told me not to come here.
“It could be bad for your lungs kid” he informed me, pushing a neatly cut article in my direction.
But here I am anyway. In this brightly lit, hazardous hazelnut brewing coffeehouse. I like it here. People don’t question what you are doing or why you are here. Because drinking a cup of coffee is an act in itself, or at least I’d like to think so.
I haven’t sat down to write in a while. Well, I’ve tried but all those words just became minute details in a mess of a doodle (probably of a tree because that’s the only thing I know how to draw.) I think it’s because writing makes you think. It makes you work through those tough, calloused thoughts. And that’s what I’m trying to do right now.
Exactly 2 years ago, I made this blog. I wrote my first post on a nearly deflated air mattress nestled in the corner of my empty room in Brooklyn. I wanted things to change and I wanted nothing to change.
The first time I went back to New York, I expected that the man at the deli would remember my coffee and bagel order. He called me bonita once so naturally I thought he would remember me, well, for the rest of his life. Much to my dismay, he remembered every single freaking construction worker’s order in front of me (in both Spanish and English) but not mine. Heck, I don’t even think he got my order right when I did tell him
I guess things are always changing whether you like it or not.
This coffeehouse used to be my only means of interaction. I’ve sat here when the snow was pounding and time felt heavy. I’ve sat here when all good things happening were derived in fiction. I have memories here, memories that may not constitute to anything worthwhile to anyone, but myself.
Sometimes it’s easier to hold onto lasting impressions even if they no longer hold truth. Because creating new ones means that things have changed, that things are different and will be from now on. There’s a level of comfort that comes with being familiar with someone or somewhere. But when there’s a jolt in the known, you are forced to concoct new interpretations, to redefine expectations.
I want to end this blog post with an analogy to Scooby-Doo because, well, I just really enjoy Scooby-Doo. I think that if I had my driver’s license (yes, that’s right, I still don’t know how to drive) I would probably drive the mystery van. The mystery van is cool because while it has a tentative destination, it takes all sorts of unexpected twists and turns. The mission is always changing but there’s consistency in the members of the gang and the fact that there is always an abundance of snacks.
So as self-proclaimed driver of the mystery van, I have decided that I am going to embrace change. I’m going to take those turns and know that one way or another, things will work out. And in a strange way, they always do(o).

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