An ode to my town prison

I’ve been disliking my city more and more over the past 25 years, but it wasn’t until a few years ago that I started to actively hate it. After my mother passed, I ended up in a tradition where ever year, I’d go to stay with her cousin for a couple of weeks and help him with his business, then go to stay with my father for a couple of weeks. Every time I’d go, when I’d get back, I’d be happy to be home. No matter how much I disliked the city I’m stuck in, there’s no place like home, and I’d get excited once the bus/train would reach a point where I’d recognize streets or businesses.

Unfortunately, this year, despite eagerly waiting two years through the pandemic and missing it and looking forward to going again, I didn’t feel the same. In fact, I felt ennui about returning to my town. To make things worse, the city was obviously concerned that I might have forgotten why I hate it so much and in its infinite consideration, it made sure to remind me as soon as returned. This spring, when I got back, the city reminded me why I hate it withing less than 40 seconds of stepping off the train, and this winter, when I got back last week, the city reminded me within a couple of minute of stepping off the bus.

So yes, I do indeed hate this city with all my soul, and I’ve been singing this little refrain for a few years. Unfortunately, I’m stuck here, I can’t afford the time, money, or energy to move, and have nowhere to go, this city is my prison. 😕