Crying About Trader Joe's

Last night, I cried about Trader Joe’s. 

I walk the streets of my new city daily, yet I can't bring myself to call it home. Getting used to walking everywhere was surprisingly easy, I’m used to walking to and from school and basically anywhere as it has been the case for most of my life. Jumping out of bed and speed-walking to class is second nature. The only difference is how I now try to bury the thought that these sidewalks aren't quite as familiar as the ones I once walked, not knowing the exact amount of blocks to the library, missing the sloping pavements to the trail, the way the residential sidewalks give way to wider ones once I’ve reached the downtown area. 

I ignore the way I come home to roommates, rather than coming home to my mom sitting on the couch, with her iPad, her worn house slippers always resting on the floor nearby, her smile upon greeting me. I took for granted the feeling of being around family, doing nothing never felt so comfortable. I miss the clutter and stacks of books on my floor, littering the area around the door, around my bed, stacked on my nightstand my dad built me, on my desk, on top of my bookshelf. How I fall asleep to the sound of the dehumidifier in the bathroom next to my shared bedroom rather than the sounds of classical music coming in from the living room where my dad sits beside his homemade CD shelf, the disks spilling out from the wooden panels, onto the carpet that’s been there since we moved in. How my feet sound on carpet, the muted sound unlike the patter of my feet on hardwood, the sensation so different than the cold that would seep into my chilled feet before I’d huddle into my covers, trying to warm up before falling into a deep, comfortable sleep. 

I wiped tears away as I remembered walking into a Trader Joe’s where the displays are much closer to the door, how the flowers are displayed on the right side of the entrance rather than a mini pathway into the store. How they don’t sell my favorite margarita mix and the way they display avocados like they do bananas. I hide my frown as I try to locate the chips that aren’t on the far right shelf facing the cheese selection, and walk around the whole store looking for the beverage aisle that isn't on the far left where it usually is. They’re always out of hashbrowns, the crackers are above the frozen berries, the cucumbers facing the cashiers and not the tofu. It’s difficult to put into words my frustration with the way the pastries and peanut butter are supposed to be at the back of the store, not the side. Miniscule differences, seemingly unimportant, can be so grating. 

I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this home away from home.  

Feb. 27, 2023