By
Kelece Alozie
For most of my life, I’ve lived in just one place.
The only time I haven’t lived in El Paso is a time before my memory. I was just 3 years old when my parents moved here, and I wasn’t yet old enough for anything from that time to hold any significance. All I remember is the red brick of Mesita Elementary and the various classrooms that housed and raised me over the years.
I’ve seen the star on the mountain burn out and be re-lit, and I remember clearly the awe I had as a child driving through parts of the city where you could really see it, in all its glory. I’ve had dates here, met my best friends here, and lived in the same room for a full decade. My roots run deep, connected with every street name and familiar face within the city.
The Sun City is my home, in every way that matters. More than just a setting for eras of my life, it’s been my entire world, for as long as I can remember.
But – soon – I’ll move across the country for college.
It’s an interesting feeling, to have one foot out the door. My room hasn’t been cleaned in a few weeks simply because I’m about to leave. Who cares about the mess? I don’t live here anymore!
But the mess isn’t the end of all of my emotions.
I reconnected with a middle school friend a few weeks back. I walked into my school for the last time to pick up my diploma and felt like crying the whole while. I want to visit those same Mesita teachers from years ago, just to show them who I’ve become. To thank them, for believing in me and loving me and knowing I was always going to do great things.
I wonder when I’ll drive past those buildings for the last time.
You know the ones.
Those places that hold pieces of me in them.
The park where I learned to ride a bike, maybe. Or the building where I had my first dance recital. The planetarium saw so many primary school field trips. My local church. A restaurant I’ve always driven past, but never truly entered.
There’s a Baskin Robbins off Mesa that my 5th-grade teacher took me to on the last day of school. We walked down through the playground, out onto the road, and into the sweet embrace of the cool ice cream shop.
For years, I’ve driven down that same street maybe thousands of times. I dropped my brother off at the same school, then passed it when going to our separate schools. Every time I visit a friend or drive to a concert, I watch that same Baskin Robbins smile at me, like a friend I see in the halls.
When I make the journey to the airport, I’ll wave at her for the last time.
But with all these bittersweet emotions, I’m still excited.
I’ve seen the same people for 13 years. Maybe it’s time for something new. I’m ready to meet new people and experience new sights, sounds, and things. Form new memories, and drive by the buildings they’re connected to.
But I love my home. And for years, it has loved me back with all its heart.
I want the love I’ve been shown by the city to follow me through my life, for the Sun City to shine its light down on those who meet me.
So I’m sad. I’ll miss my sights, my friends and my bed. There’s a part of me in every corner of the city that I worry I’ll be looking for forever.
But I’ve learned what I needed. I’ve had a good few years (nearly two decades). There are good things my city has to give me, and I’ve taken them all in stride.
So I’ll wave goodbye to that Baskin Robbins. I’ll thank my neighborhood church for every mass and first communion. I’ll watch my high school pass me by one last time.
And when the moment comes, I think I’ll feel more whole than I’ve ever been.
