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I've always been attracted to the air, the mere feeling inside airports. The freedom. I don't just mean the fact you are equally as valid buying a coffee at 8 pm as you are buying a beer at 6 am. For one, the diversity inside an airport is unmatched by any one place in the world. People are coming and going from their countries and cities, passing through, never staying, yet we are all there for the same reason. As different as I am from every person on my flight, I am the same in one way: location. These were the kinds of thoughts that overtook my brain the day I flew from Portland, Oregon to Barcelona, Spain. 18 then, alone, excited, scared, and apparently in a philosophical headspace. While everyone on that flight headed towards the same location, only one eighteen-year-old girl moved across the world alone for her education. I didn't feel any sort of regret, perpetual fear, yeah. Distinctly, I understood my entire life would change completely when my flight landed. I'd had transitional life periods before, moving cities with my family for example, or the summer between middle school and high school. Nothing from my past could even attempt to compare to that flight. It was as if I'd walked out of the front door of my house only to look back and see an abyss. There was no return, only advancement. Creating a life in a new country as an eighteen-year-old with no family, friends, or support system might seem like an impossible task, an entirely undesirable one, but to me, it just screamed freedom--opportunity. No set path meant choices. For the first time in my life, I could be and do exactly what I wanted. Now, to be clear, this wasn't an overnight impulsive decision. I did put a lot of thought into my overseas move. Two months prior I'd been admitted into Geneva Business School in Barcelona. I had a Residency Visa for Spain. I'd already put a downpayment down on a room in a shared apartment in Barrio Gotic. I felt prepared, more or less. Moving Abroad proved to have its difficulties. For one, my Spanish lacked fluency. My free time was spent entirely alone, and I no longer looked at the same sky as my family and friends back home. Yet, Barcelona, as I describe it now, is just like an airport. While alone, I never felt lonely. Barcelona´s residents, being 27% foreigners, welcomed me with open arms. Walking the corridors of the city's oldest district (with buildings older than my entire country) felt like a dream. Five days after my arrival, I began my first day at the University. My school, being the private business school it is, attracts a lot of foreigners. The seats in my classes filled up with people from Sweden, Egypt, India, Brazil, and basically every country you can think of. In a class of twenty students, eighteen nationalities were present. My school held one more highly desirable trait: Every single one of us wanted companionship. We were all new to Barcelona. Before the end of the first week, I was getting coffee with classmates and planning weekend outings with a group of girls. Now, as I learn the local language, study Entrepreneurship, and live in the only place I've ever felt truly happy, I can say without a single doubt I made the right choice. Things settled, as they always do, in the exact way they were supposed to. Could I have just gone to OSU in Oregon? Yes, of course. Did I have to choose one of the most intense and difficult paths in my life? No, but I wanted to. I live with a constant feeling of FOMO. My life doesn't feel nearly long enough. I am constantly in a desire for the best, most unique experiences to fill out my life. To me, the string of memories that my life will be in the end is all that matters.

I am happy to announce that my official website http://www.aerikvon.com will be online very soon!

MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME – AND HE DID My husband and I were delighted when we finally retired and planned to move into our new home in sunny Florida. We carefully chose the lot and builder and in the blink of an eye, six months passed, and the house was halfway completed. Wanting to be sure the construction went as planned, we began packing. Our goal was to rent a small house until it was time to move into our own permanently. Three of our four children were married, three of them with their own families. One lived in Connecticut, two on Long Island and ironically, one on the east coast of Florida. While it would be heart-wrenching to leave three children and their families behind, we were glad we still had a son and his family close by. A three-hour drive and we'd be at their door – or vice versa. That eased the tug on our heartstrings. The excitement of doing what we wanted and when grew. No more rising early and commuting to jobs only to face traffic again on the way back home – and all do it over again the next day! Retirement was looking really good. However, we promised our children we would visit as often as possible but also, we wanted them to see our new home. We volunteered to pay the airfare for their first visit to Florida. “Our treat", we promised” The sad part was that we could not get all four children to make the trip at the same time. Their work schedules just didn't sync. When the time came for each to visit, we advised them to pack lightly. We had a new washer and dryer and saw no need overloading suitcases especially when two of them had small children to worry about. Our youngest son took that advice to heart. We made the arrangements for the visit for Richie and his fiancé. As promised, he called as he left his apartment for the airport. We mentioned we wanted to check the internet for flight information so we would not be late picking up him and Christie. He said not to worry about that because he wanted to rent a car to experience driving around Florida. Richie always was independent, so we agreed. When they pulled into the driveway, my husband and I hurried out the door to meet them and saw he rented a beautiful, red pickup with a hard-enclosed bed. They opened the bed cover and our soon-to-be-daughter-in-law pulled out a small carry on case. Our son on the other hand pulled out two exceptionally large duffel bags. Jokingly I said to him, “What did you do bring all your dirty laundry?” He looked from me to his father and then back to me. A wide grin spread over his face as he said, “Well you did say you had a new washer and dryer. I just thought you might want to check it out, and break it in, so yeah I brought my laundry.” There was about two weeks' worth of dirty laundry. We hugged and had a hearty laugh as I showed him were the laundry room was. I showed Christie to the guest bedroom and she unpacked her clean clothes. Looking back on that day still makes me smile. After all, we did tell them to feel right at home and make themselves comfortable. He sure did as he spent the next two days doing laundry and we spent the next two days entertaining him and his fiancé while he did.

You never know just who or what You'll cross with throughout most days. Yet there always seems to be moments in time that leave us lost for words or full of thoughts. Though I don't fully known where my encounter may lie, I know for certain that it carries a heavy truth. And with any truth to be told, it can be applied within life and it's delights. All in mind towards a genuine honesty of life that may hopefully follow, not too far behind. The other day I was at the gym and I was at the pool so my arm was showing. Someone had noticed and asked, “oh man, what happened there?” And pointed at it. Now before that, no one had been so direct towards me about it. Usually they'd notice it and my guess, get uncomfortable or awkward and try not to notice or cause attention to it. I know what it is, but I also know what it can be seen as, perceived from the outside looking in. I know what it must do to others. But here was someone who asked, not to be devious, but out of genuine concern or harmless curiosity, not instinctively thinking that I'd possibly do it to myself, thinking it had to have been something like an attack or accident. I just appreciated that lack of assumption, she didn't jump to unfair judgement, she gave me that benefit of the doubt, and with that, I was grateful and glad to answer her question. “What happened there?” And with some thought, I told her. “I was tryin- I was looking for some answers. I didn't find them. I'm still figuring them out though. Closer everyday.” And it was then, it was as if all the obvious just hit her square in the face, she kinda tried to close her mouth, not to be so obvious with her own reaction, but it was far too late for either of us to be subtle. She wasn't put off though, she didn't suddenly shame me or become disgusted; she was just hit with a heavier unexpected answer. But then I saw a sadness, not pity, but a sadness for my wellbeing, a concern. It was warmth, no doubt in my mind, cause I felt it churning in her eyes. Like intertwined gears that wind the clock. After some ticks and tocks, she absorbed the time needed to process the situation for what it was, she spoke in a tone that she had shifted from the soul. She reached out to me and connected, “Well I'm really glad you didn't find it -there-. There's reason for why we don't always get what we want, there's moments in time when what we want most, is actually what will cause our demise. So life throws us a bone, and denies that hidden demise. Saving us, while we cry.” The hair on my arms started to raise, it's like she peaked in, and saw it for what it for was it was, and put it into words for me. I wanted to tear my wall, to show her that she had got through to me, but all I could muster was a big teethe smile, I never do so cause my teeth are a mess, but my joy wouldn't stand for anything less as it's expression. Then I looked to her with an uttermost heartfelt gleam smeared across my once broken face, and thanked her for being a wonderful human being. It was a powerful moment, and it was all within 3 or 4 minutes of small talk. She went on to finish her workout and I stayed there listening to the echo acoustics of the indoor pool. Processing the situation for myself. For what it was..

Being both widowed, Rich and I met about 10 years before he was due to retire. He often said that once he retired, he wanted to move to Florida and spend as much time as possible, fishing! I was hesitant thinking Florida was not much more than heat and bug and I really, really don't like bugs! While he visited Florida many times with his first wife and their children, I never had the opportunity to set foot in the Sunshine State. I wasn't too concerned about the heat because I knew wherever we lived, our house would have air conditioning. I was more concerned about the bugs. As I said, I hate bugs! Big or small – doesn't matter. I just don't like them. Being quite comfortable in my New York home, I saw no reason to leave it. Then the unthinkable happened. My husband had an accident while at work that put him into immediate retirement. After his accident, we began making several trips to Florida to check out the different areas in order to find a place upon which we both agreed to build a new home. I was still very skeptical about moving but will admit that I enjoyed our vacations. We traveled from New York down the east coast and up the west coast. During one of these vacations, my sister-in-law volunteered to drive us around the areas near her home. That's when we came to a little town called Punta Gorda that stopped us in our tracks! How could you fall in love with a lump of dirt? Intuition, I guess. It just felt right. We put a deposit on it. Two years later, we paid off the remaining loan and hired a builder. While we found the area to be a quaint little town that has several great restaurants and a civic association that offers many things to keep you busy, we found more. We found home. Our neighbors are friends who are eager to welcome you into their homes for coffee, dinner, and/or lunch and yet aren't intrusive. They respect our privacy but let us know their doors are always open. Almost one year later, we moved into our beautiful Florida home and I was totally surprised and the lack of bugs! Except once every seven years! Lovebugs swarm the area and I do mean swarm! The swarms are so huge, most sensible people stay inside for two or three days until the volume of bugs begins to wane. But that's another story. We moved into our home in April of 1999 and the first thing we did was organize and host a Christmas party for our neighbors. There were only six couples, but the party was fun. We made new friends. Then we joined the civic association and the fishing club. We met more people and made more friends. Nineteen years later, we made the decision to halt our Christmas parties. At our party lasts year, 88 people were invited and 88 people attended. Yes, we made that many friends. I define a friend as a person who I can call anytime day or night and they'll be there. All I'd have to say is, “Something happened. Can you come?” Without question, anyone I'd call would show up. That's a friend and that's why I can call all these people my friends. From living on a dirt road on Long Island New York to a Florida suburb was a huge change for me but it turned out all for the best. I can no longer see a home anywhere else. The climate is perfect. On occasion, we'll have a scorching, summer but many other states do as well. We live on waterfront property, so fishing is as easy as stepping out the back door, off the dock and on the boat. And, last but not least, is the social aspect. I knew many people n New York but none were as friendly as those I met here in Florida. They are more than friends; they are my family. It took us two years to find this little town but since moving here, there is no doubt that it's a beautiful place to live and anyone living here calls Punta Gorda paradise, located just under the rainbow.

I left. Removed from the reality that I had, without my permission. Taken away from everything I knew, the friends I had, the things I did. I felt, violated. The things I had loved from my whole life seemed to be thrown out the window, without my regard. A huge decision was put upon me, without talking to me about it. The first time it ever came up, seemed as if it was already decided. I felt small, left in an abyss of nothing. It seemed as though I would never have the life I loved, again. The life I had built, was being totally disconnected from me, and no one seemed to care. At first I was mad, it seemed as though my parents were making a very selfish decision. They only were seeing themselves in the future that they were creating, but unfortunately, I was just tagging along. They forget how transformative these years of my life are, and how much living in two different places will change me as a human. Even though there were things I asked for, like more time playing games, and even a trampoline, to be honest, none of that mattered. I just tried to believe that I could make this new place seem like it was going to be great, with these realistically meaningless things. I tried to hide what was really going on with materialistic things. I thought I could replace Denver with Maryland as a home, but in reality, I don't think that's possible. You can't replace what has always been on your heart, a place you loved. A step-mom can't replace your real mother. You can't replace a new friend with one you have known since you were a child. These are all things you wouldn't do, so there should be no difference with a place. It seems that there were people around me who were trying to do those same things, and truly, it hurt me, and I wish that on no-one. I know that my parents would never intend for that to happen, I just don't think they realized what they were truly doing. I felt like I was being purged of memories I adored from the place I once lived. I felt like that was being erased, 11 years, erased. It was unbelievably scary. It looked like they were trying to take joy away from me. There was a lot going on. So many different emotions, swirling up inside of me and spitting out a miserable wreck, but, no one knew that. I put on a facade so my parents wouldn't worry, they had, work and moving in. In hindsight, it was the wrong thing to do, if I was more up front about what I really felt, none of the awful discomfort that truly riddled my mind, would never have happened. As time went on, things gradually got better, I was feeling happier and less sad everyday. I started to realize that my parents were not only doing this for themselves. Of course they wanted to further their career, but they also truly believed that moving here would help us become closer as a family. My brother moved away for college, but to one in Colorado. We now only have to travel an hour to see him, while most families have to travel across country to see their brother, sister, or child. When we lived in Maryland, my parents had to commute an hour and a half to work everyday. I would see my parents far less than however much I do now. In Colorado, they have a 15 minute commute max, meaning I get to see and spend far more time with them. There were definitely adversity in moving halfway across the country, but in the end, I think it was the right decision for my parents to make.

Twelve hours of flying, eight hours of layovers, forty four hours of driving, and a six hour time difference separated me from the others in my new home. When I came a month in advance to set up an apartment, get a job, and orient myself in a rural town, they merely drove a couple of hours from their hometowns, instead of flying across an ocean. This made me an outlier in any situation, but I enjoyed my inability to assimilate into the crowd. There were too many things to be excited about, to worry about normal. A school with only a thousand or so students, a town with so few people, the thought of regulars who helped out the employes at my job, all of it was new and strange. Heck, I spent a week marveling at the tiny red fire trucks, because they were cute just like the toys. They didn't need to be as long as a limo to reach up the hotels and condos, nor were they a sunny yellow. I found joy in discovering daily normalities for others. But, since day one the oddest thing was the weather. It had never occurred to me before that I could tell what the weather would be like, simply from the wind on my face in the morning until I had lost the ability. Instead of constant sunny days, north winds, and the occasional downpour the weather became something entirely different. I finally understood why there was a weather app on my phone and a weather channel on the TV; it was completely unpredictable. Every other day the sun and clouds would fight for superiority. One day humid and hot, the next a thunderstorm. The battle got worse when the sun gave up, defeated by the cold air, but by then I had a new distraction. When the leaves began to changed, I picked up the first that fell, goggling at its striking colors. I realized the fall leaves were nature's redemption for the lack of vibrant sunsets. The shades of pink, red, yellow, orange, and purple were identical. For the months of fall, whenever the cold hit I would merely look to the sky in order to set a smile on my face. Bright blue, peeking through scattered leaves from half barren trees, it was a beautiful sight. The sidewalk painted in red never failed to make me grin; I couldn't help but smile when I acknowledged the abnormality of my situation. Leaves changing from green to red--ha--only ever on TV, but now I saw it before my eyes. It was something people from my home would never get to see, because I knew many of them would never leave the rock to discover the grand world. Occasionally my mind would get confused, it could not understand how the sun lacked warmth, how the air was so frigid. When I walked into the light I expected to be relieved by the immediate heat; I was always disappointed. The sun was not warm, there was no temperature difference between shade and light. This disappointment continued through my first two snow falls. Each time I was stuck, working, wasting the hours away when I could be enjoying the frozen drops cooling the earth. By the time I was able to walk outside there would be rain melting the fresh shine away. But eventually I got a day off, and to my joy it was the first “real” snow day. A day when the snow was fluffy and permanent. First thing in the morning, ignoring breakfast and logic, I left my cozy apartment for an adventure, bundled up in three layers with waterproof boots, and a camera in my hands. Taking dozens of pictures at every stop I explored my first white world. The trees were caked in icing, roads and rocks smoothed by a thick layer of snow. With my first step my feet sank, three maybe four inches down. I walked down my usually path to class, with a spark in my step. Each was recorded by the snow, drawing a map of my journey. A tree from a fantasy world, a rock shaped like a perfect sphere, a metallic bell statue, a half frozen river, a troll bridge: a few of the winter wonders I captured as I explored my transformed world. Overnight a starch blanket had wrapped around the town. That day I learned a number of things: a snow bank is when the snow is piled up on the side of the road, they are called snow plows not bulldozers, always point your windshield wipers to the sky, buy something to scrape the ice and brush the snow. Oddities which I enjoyed being oblivious of. I loved the snow. Some would say my opinion would change. Give it a year or two and all of my joy would disappear, but I knew them to be wrong. The only reason I found joy in the normal things was because I could understand how for someone somewhere what I saw was the strangest thing in the world. I do not grin because I don't know; I grin because there are so many differences between culture even in the same country. I grin because humanity is vast but ignorant and I am always finding something new. I will not forget the abnormality of snow in the winter because half of the world does not have it. I use to be apart of that half. Now I am not.

We moved to Vancouver in August 2016. I've never been to Vancouver before, but when we first got off the plane at YVR's Arrival, it was nothing like Beijing's T3, but the staff was friendly and the airport felt warm and welcoming, crowded with people of different colors and wearing different clothes, carrying different things; "it's just an airport" I thought, "doesn't mean anything, everything will be the same here, just like what dad said." And you know what they say, "daddy's always right!" The flight was smooth with only a couple of small nudges here and there, and the landing, man, the landing was phenomenal ---- everyone applauded for that landing ---- and while smiling and clapping, we felt a sense of belonging. I was excited and exhausted when we finally got out of the airport, through the custody and all the paperwork. I wanted to rest; I imagined there will be a perfect bed waiting for me in a perfectly polished house, just like everytime in hotels in Japan, Korea, Europe... Every time when we travel ---- better, actually, because this time, it will be my new home. My parents' friend came to pick us up, and as we drove through the already-turning-red maple trees and clusters of giant trees, good, I thought, perfectly organic and Canadian, this should be fun. After running to the supermarket a block away and changing the batteries, the keys finally worked, opening into the lobby. There were four matching Matcha green sofas and a fake furnace with shiny plastic orange lights. The lobby led to two long hallways and two elevators; this all looked vaguely familiar, and the idea finally hit me when we reached our apartment door with "116" written on a metal board ---- this all looked too much like a hotel and nothing like a home. I ran up and opened the door, hoping something drastically different would be inside, like what happened in Narnia or Coraline (alright maybe not this one). If Emily Dickinson called hope "the thing with feathers," I think it has been plucked, seasoned, roasted, and served on a silver platter in my heart. My brother yelled "cool!" and dashed in; my mom took off her glasses; my dad sighed and said, "This. Is all... temporary." The walls were a pale white color with messy brushstrokes of grey, the floor looked like it hasn't been cleaned for centuries, you can find balls of grey fur and candy wrappers everywhere, and in the middle of everything was a sad looking purple sofa-bed with a broken upper left leg. The place spelled out despair for you nice and clear. It was the definition and textbook example of what's not suitable for human habitation. I have never wanted to come to Canada. The decision was made for me. My friends, my grandparents, aunts, pets.... everything familiar was left back home ---- my life was back there. My mom came closer and hugged me. "I understand," she said, "I know, it's hard for you. It's hard for all of us; it's hard for anyone who has had the experience... an opportunity, the blessing, to see a bigger world. We didn't want to leave either, but this is the best choice made. Sometimes we'll have to sacrifice some old memories to make new ones." At the time, I didn't really think much about what she said. Why couldn't we hold onto the past and move forward at the same time? Thinking back, when I was acting childishly hysterical in the middle of that dusty apartment, pessimistic with no hope whatsoever, I was dragging a shipping container-full of old memories and nostalgia. In reality, I didn't lose anything, while the past adds to me, it doesn't define who I really am.

Don't Stop Rock With It!!! Awesome words spoken by the illustrious Uncle Luke. This last year I have been separated from my husband of over 20 years. We gave it a good run, however in the end our selfishness and stubbornness won and the marriage we didn't each put 100% in blew up. It blew up in a cloud of black smoke, that wafted mild violence, tears, hurt, betrayal and just plain old ugliness. Real stinky stuff. I now realize we were always doomed for failure. Why? Because although we had the best intentions and loved and even liked one another. We were mainly just using one another, attempting to achieve having the perfect Brady Bunch, Leave it to Beaver family facade we grew up watching on television. Our attempts to make our black children not the stereotypes so often associated with black folk and our attempt to be the best black parents ever took presidence over being the best husband and wife ever. Instead of building us. We built models for Boy and Girl Scouts. Instead of saving for our future. We spent money to live in homes outside our means, pay for soccer clubs and golf camps. So that our children would be in a greater position to prosper. Sometimes, mainly when I look at my children or when I look at other seemingly happy families, I miss what we had. What we wanted. What we needed. What we both longed for and went about achieving in all the wrong ways. But for the most part, and I do feel guilty about this. (lol guilty should be my middle name) I feel HAPPY. Guilty-Happy, but happy none-the-less. Guilty-Happy that I am at peace. Guilty-Happy that I love that it's just my 14-year old and I in our little house. Guilty-Happy that I don't have to answer to a man. Guilty-Happy that I can purchase my thrift store finds without getting the stink eye. Guilty-Happy that I got a promotion with a 25% raise. Guilty-Happy that I've met a guy who's my equal. Guilty happy that I am THRIVING AND NOT JUST SURVIVING. Yes, Indypendence!! Don't Stop Get It; Get!! Don't Stop; Rock With It!!