My name is Aliza, part 1 (fiction Work in Progress)

I open the door to the carol street basement and step outside into the morning world.

The day was pretty warm for a winter day, and I doubted my decision to wear my heaver coat. The sun was out and the sky was beautiful, a clear blue painted perfectly with touches of white. I had an hour to spare before I was set to meet with a friend.

I came here from Boston to spend the weekend. I needed a break from home. I have been living at home for the past few months after finishing seminary. It’s funny how I had longed for home so much away in Australia for a whole year. I missed the food, my family, my own room. I just craved for my space and my freedom. Not to mention to hear normal English, I even got scared that I will start speaking like an Australian myself.

But home didn’t solve all my life, I quickly learned.

Even with all my freedom, space, and love, I still had myself to deal with. I still faced my boredom, my fears, and not to forget my writer’s block. And even worse, now at home I had a whole life to think about. My whole life just stood there right in front of me asking what I’m going to do with it.

I guess being home and finishing the whole school system made life feel real. Like this is it. This is what I spent my whole growing up, teenage years, all the school and studying, all the tests and report cards, it was for this. What else was it for?

Of course, my friends said that real life starts once we get married and even more once we have kids, “once we build a Jewish home” but I wasn’t convinced. I had waited so long. I felt that this is it, this is what life is, I made it to grown up life.

I honestly wanted to learn more about myself before getting married. Like, how can I get married before living any regular life outside of school? I thought about this a lot recently, I think I’ll talk about it with Chana too. I’m meeting her later. She’s ready to get married, she told me. I even think she started dating. I’ll have to ask her.

Anyway, I started walking down the street towards Kingston Ave, I walked like a tourist on her first day in a city. You know, that first morning when you wake up to a new place and you feel like you’re in a new world. You walk around with your head stretched high. Your eyes are open. You hear the sounds that are louder and the smells which are stronger. Your body is relaxed and the world suddenly fills up with a new energy.

If only I can live like a tourist every day, I think.

A young mother is walking my way pushing her child. I almost smiled and said good morning, But I didn’t, I remembered where I was. But I wished to. I wished it was normal here to acknowledge other passerby, to wish good morning to other people.

I sneak a look into her carriage as I pass. A precious little boy bundled in a fluffy blue blanket. He was probably two or three month old. His cheeks were filled up to his eyes. His cute little nose stuck out so perfectly. His eyes were closed, he was asleep so contently.

I turn my head back towards Kingston still smiling at the sight of the baby. I take a deep breath and feel the crisp morning air pass through my nose.