Dancing to a tune called Boston

And so I finally did it. I made the big move. With four very large overweight bags in tow and 12 brown boxes in transit with the U.S. postal service, I moved out of Boston. The city that was a stranger to me not so long ago turned into home for the past year. I knew the streets, was familiar with the public tranpsort system, had worked out the pedestrain clock for the traffic signals outside my apartment.

When I think back to a year ago, I remember the gripping pangs of uncertanity that knawed at my insides. I stepped out of one of my first late night classes at COM and remember feeling petrified at the night that seemed to swallow me in this new city. I was scared of getting lost, scared of speaking to new people, scared to try anything different. And now it feels like I've known the Bay State almost forever.

Boston is a great place - large enough to feel like a city, small enough to make you feel a part of it. The people smile, when the sun is out, it's the best, the air is clean. Boston's spirit is warm and fuzzy, welcoming and accepting of a largely migratory population that flock to its borders for a world-class education at one of many colleges. And when a student finishes their course and begins to move out of the city, Boston gives them a pat on their back, nudges them along their way and reminds them they always have a friend on the east coast. No strings attached.

I'm extremely excited about beginning a new chapter. But I love Boston. Always. For taking me in and making me one of its own. Yes, love. Not just like. I intend on being back for commencement. Until then, Boston, and the neighborhood in which I lived, Brookline, will be missed. Sorely.