Nailah abdul-rahman

The Beginning

Hometown, a compound word. When I think of home I think of origin and town, place. I once walked through my origin without giving the place much thought, much value. As an adult I recognize that my hometown has shaped me into a person with compassion for others because of my circumstances I was always grateful and aware of the circumstances of people around me. In college the kids would go to my hometown to party but were warned be careful because its dangerous. In 2019 the crime rate in New Haven was 431. Which was 1.6 times higher than the national average. New Haven is the land of opportunity for some but a trap for others. Where a lump sum are born, often ill prepared for life, and unprepared for opportunities, so preparation never meets opportunity. Minds are trapped by what they see and never see, bodies are trapped by where they go and where they will never go. What a tourist might see, historic stone buildings, manicured lawns, and big black iron rod gates. From inside the window, students might see a campus full of possibilities while the kids peaking in those windows see limited possibilities. As an adult I question who are those gates keeping out and what are those gates keeping in. My mother was one of those students who was able to look out the window, but I was one of those students looking in. Leaving me with the understanding of what it is like growing up in a city where the main attraction is an ivy league and that being the brightest spot, well-lit streets away from closed minds that don’t get fed. What excites me about my hometown is holes I can crawl into and find phenomenal food. Wooster Street also known as Little Italy is where you can find the best pizza and Italian food. On Howe Street Mamoun’s is the middle eastern place where you can get the best falafel sandwich, with the spiciest homemade hot sauce that is so good but can only be consumed in small portions. The best feature is that they are open until the wee hours of the morning and they also serve hookah. This piece of home has kept home in my heart while studying in New York where one exists in Greenwich Village and I enjoyed tasting a piece of home in Atlanta where they recently opened a new location. My city made me. As a young child I couldn’t figure out how such a small uneventful place could be called a city. New York is a city, later realizing New York is like no other city. That New York is the city that never sleeps. As if a city is alive, wakes, and sleeps. That if you can make it in New York you can make it anywhere. In 2016, I made it in New York, living in Harlem, then Long Island. I am now prepared to live anywhere. My hometown has made me a traveler. Someone who wants to live many places and make them all home. Someone who wants to visit her hometown, but never live there. Someone who hears New Haven referenced in scenes of Law and Order, who feels slightly excited because of the memories made there and in New York. Someone who feels like an insider understanding the dynamics of New Haven while understanding its close proximity to New York and what that means for residents and travelers alike. Hometown, a place where I was born. A place that houses memories and familiar faces. The place where my journey started. Where my identity began to form. A place that shaped me, but no longer my home. That value diminished when I left my origin to chase my dreams to find a new place to call home.