Never Going Back Home: The Silent Violence of Gentrification

Whenever I hear someone say they’re going back home to be with family, I can’t relate.

I wish I could.

My grandmother’s apartment was where my life happened in those crucial formative years. Before her passing in December of 2014, the landlords (I believe there was one changing of the guards) constantly tried to push her out of the apartment at the start of the migrate to Brooklyn trend.

An immigrant in her senior years looked like an opportunity to them. They tried to confuse her and sent several notices to vacate. These intimidation tactics are a very common practice.

Thankfully she kept receipts for years and could always prove she paid that random month they’d claim she didn’t pay from a years prior. 

Ultimately (after her passing) they got the apartment, and finally renovated.

I’m sure either a young professional couple, a group of artists or a young family are happy there surrounded by organic markets and gluten free options.

When I find myself back in my old neighborhood it’s still strange.

It feels like a bond was broken.

I barely recognize the place. The people look at me like I’m the stranger, which I guess I am now.

Walking the streets I used to stomp with my friends, I feel like a ghost floating through an altered memory.

These feelings surprised me. They brought on a particular type of sadness that was up until that point unknown to me.

I don’t see the black and latino people I grew up with.

The old corner stores and pizza shops are mostly gone.

Over lunch one day, I expressed my feelings of displacement to my friend Kevin.

I don’t remember the exact words, but it was something to the effect of our true nature as spiritual beings and not actually belonging anywhere. It helped me to start practicing a different point of view.

Not being tethered to a certain address is its own brand of freedom, especially considering the impermanence of existence. 

Still there are moments when I feel nostalgic for a place I call home.

It feels like a slap in the face when the places our parents and grandparents migrate to and create culture in turn around and erase us from those spaces.

We’re still developing the language and the tools to understand all the nuance and evolve as usual.

Thankfully, we always do.