And then after that I thought it was such a nice night out, I would just walk home. I did, and took a few snapshots of my city along the way. And fell in love with it, just a little bit more. Mpls is the best city in America, I think. I often tell people that half my heart belongs to Hilo, half to Mpls, and half to the Central African region. But there’s a different kind of giving of my heart to each. The Central African region is where my activist heart belongs, where the barest pieces of my humanity come out. It is my passion, and my heart beeps for it. Hilo was the place where I was lost and found pieces of myself, and learnt to love. It was a place to start over, to find some peace.
Mpls, on the other hand, is a place to live when you’ve got some sense of the rest. It has infrastructure, skyscrapers, an awesome bus system, more lakes than you can know what to do with, and the river (not to mention a really kick-ass mayor). At some point more than a year ago, I was walking down Nicollet Mall and I had the sense that this city actually belonged to me, in the way that we can get possessive about cities. I think it was the people along the Mall, and the scent of roasting pecan nuts that pushed me over the edge. Every time I leave the city and return to see the skyline, I’m filled with this sense of home, something I hadn’t really felt since Hilo. It is mine, and it is love.
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