Sitting outside of my corner coffee shop, I looked across Sheridan road, where the busy street flashes cars each second, down to the lit red Morse sign of the Red Line stop a block away. I sip my double espresso and continued to stare at the sign under the EL tracks, helpless thinking about myself being in the same situation but in a different country. Europe comes to mind once again; perhaps Paris, France because of their extensive Metro system. But any European city will do.
I can’t help but feel lost and displaced between two cities, two worlds, two lives. Sipping away at my double espresso, I wonder if my other self is doing the same at another coffee shop, sitting outside and wondering about being in (or remembering) the States. Perhaps it’s my constant urge to travel abroad; heck, even live abroad if I could afford it.
Coming from a blue collar family made traveling abroad in college almost impossible. Yet, a year after college, I’m a white collar worker: one of two in my extended family. So I’m not making the big bucks, but it’s my choice to be in a Catholic school. However, my choice is still wanting to live and definitely travel, at the least, abroad.
Maybe one day when I’m abroad or even home from being aboard, I can sip my single shot of espresso, instead of the double I do now.