To me, one year after the move

Hi. It's me, one week in. I'm sitting on the floor of the new apartment because the couch hasn't arrived, eating pad thai out of the container with a plastic fork, and I'm a little scared.

I don't know anyone in this city. The guy at the bodega doesn't know my name yet. I got on the wrong train twice today and ended up in a neighborhood that smelled like bread, and I almost cried, and then I bought a loaf and it was the best bread I've ever had. So that's something.

Here's what I want to know when you open this.

Is the apartment still cold? Did you figure out the radiator, or are you still sleeping in two pairs of socks?

Did you find a diner that does pancakes like Pop's? The thick ones with the crispy edges?

Do you have a person yet? Someone you can text at eleven at night to say, did you see this?

And the big one: was it worth it?

I hope you're reading this laughing. I hope you think I was so dramatic. I hope the bodega guy says your name now, and you can find the bread place without the map.

I'm scared writing this. But I'm here. I came. Don't forget that part.

Me, week one

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