Today You Are Not Mine

Dear Chicago:

Today I do not love you. Today your skies poured flooding rains. Today your buses and trains were late, the distance between two places painfully stretching to infinity. Today your streets clogged like messy drains. Today, your mighty winds tore my umbrella apart and left me soaked.

Chicago, you got the best of me today. You unearthed memories of Seoul, of ridiculous stress, unbearable waiting and crowding, of miscommunication and misunderstandings. Today, you are more annoying than my worst day in Korea. Today you reminded me that patience is a virtue – a virtue I don’t care about when I all I want to do is punch you in the face.

Today your cafes were full and when I finally sat down, I listed all the reasons I hate you.

Today you fail to inspire. Worse than a brutal, snowy wind in the dead of winter, your gloom on this rainy March afternoon, when spring is just out of reach, is like the last month of a prison sentence.

Come on Chicago, bring on the sun, bring on the warmth. Bring on your green trees and wide-open parks, your sparkling lake and soft breezes. Bring on your outdoor cafes and boat tours, parades and street festivals. Burn out the stale memories with your brilliant sunshine. Come on, Chicago, give me something, give me someone. Give me a reason to stay.

Stir Crazy

Once a year, I get so bored and restless that I go crazy. Frustrated, moody, and anxious, I yearn for change, something to look forward to. During these times, moving to a foreign country suddenly seems practical and going back to the worst job of my life may not be such a bad option after all.

Rescuing myself from this rut usually takes two paths: making a dramatic life change or rediscovering what’s been there all along. The first option is scary and the second so obvious I often forget it.

For now, I return to Chicago. One year ago, my life changed because I found the city and I found friends. This time the catalyst is my attempts to find a free museum, a cozy dive bar, or an underground music scene. From this a new energy comes from realizing Chicago’s vastness and complexity. (Check out some of my discoveries at WheresCool.com).

The South Loop, for example, bears the remnants of its seedy, industrial past with a sharp eye to the future. There are railroad yards, firehouses, and brothels; some intact, others converted into museums, restaurants, or jazz clubs.

On the UIC campus, next to the Brutalism buildings, is the most spectacular view of the Sears Tower. Nearby are the disintegrated Little Italy and Greek Town, still telling stories of Sinatra and Capone, their days of mystery and intrigue well behind them. What must it have been like when these places thrived? How long before they are Disneyfied for tourists?

In the West Loop, misfortune meets privilege. Industrial lofts mingle with operational factories, meat butchers spill blood around the corner from Oprah. Between and behind and under the warehouses and garages there are hiding all kinds of sins and secrets.

Then there’s Hyde Park, with few secrets, a pocket of wealth, intellectualism and quiet amidst the danger and decay of the notorious South Side.

Most exciting are the influx of new ethnic neighborhoods revitalizing areas once forgotten: the Mexicans in Pilsen, the Vietnamese in Uptown, and the South Asians on Devon.

Chicago once felt like a friend whose companionship had grown stale. Chicago once felt like little more than a conglomeration of skyline and sports, of tourist destinations and college campuses. Chicago was once a watered down, slightly cheaper version of New York City.

Chicago, in fact, is multi-dimensional, packed to the brim with undiscovered corners, thriving neighborhoods, stories and ghosts and spirit. And when I actively seek them out, the city encourages new perspectives and stirs the soul. For now, the city keeps me going.