Farewell Florida, So Long Boston, Goodbye America
Farewell Florida, So Long Boston, Goodbye America
Written by Vara Giannakopoulos
Art by Lauren Mallett
The only thing worse than Florida is being from Florida. Since my escape to Boston, whenever I tell people my home state, I’m met with concerned faces, the pitiful “You poor thing,” or people literally backing away from me in fear. I use “escape” not as a hyperbole. If you’ve kept up with Florida’s politics or environmental issues over the past few years, as it seems to be the rest of the country's favorite guilty pleasure, you’ll know that as an AFAB queer nonbinary person, I’m not wanted, nor do I want to stay there. It’s my hell, and that’s not just because I hate the heat.
Boston was number one on my list of desirable “Get me out of here, I don’t care where” destinations for college. It seemed perfect: my rights secured, a place with like-minded people, city life, and seasons (who knew there was anything other than hot, hotter, and big storm). My quintessential blend of Gilmore Girls and Good Will Hunting. My dad and I came up to look at schools, and I fell for the city.
What I discovered throughout my journey at Emerson College was that it was an unrequited love. It began with the realization that this city (mostly this school) is comprised almost entirely of pseudo-woke performative activism. Living off-campus is a disaster as the housing crisis ensures no one can afford anything in neighborhoods that don’t rhyme with Smallston or Humerville. Then there’s the not-surprising absence of jobs for a Creative Writing major post-grad. It’s clear the Athens of America does not love me back. Don’t get me wrong, the city has been kind to me as a college student, but after my impending graduation next May, wherever will I go?
After my freshman year, I took a leave of absence to pursue music. I went on tour as an opener for two months in the middle of the fall semester and spent the rest of that school year splitting my time between Florida and LA to record. What I learned: I hate LA. I’m still chasing that dream, but after a year, I needed to escape my parents’ home and Florida for the second time, so I returned to my kinda-sorta safe haven, Emerson.
As much as my immigrant parents would love to welcome me back into their home after I graduate, and as much of a privilege I recognize this to be, I cannot and will not be satisfied with settling back into a place simply because it’s easy. I don’t consider myself much of a Swiftie (I care about the environment), but this lyric from the GOATed Folklore album encapsulates a feeling I know “All Too Well,” “I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home.” There is no going back for me. I must look elsewhere.
NYC? Didn’t you hear? Men are publicly punching women in the face on the streets, and no one’s doing a damn thing about it. How about Chicago? I know I said I don’t like the heat, but I don’t want to freeze my nonexistent balls off either, thanks. Okay, what about Oregon or Washington? Great, while you’re at it, give me the keys to the Cullens’ see-through home and a trust fund because that’s the only way I could afford it. Texas? Didn’t I already mention I’m a political refugee? Even moving to a picturesque small town in New England feels like a compromise of jobs and opportunities. There is no winning.
At this point, I might as well spin a globe blindfolded, because any city in this country would have the same problem: it’s in this country. Maybe I’m a pessimist who doesn’t appreciate the privileges awarded with being from the US, but I don’t feel like staying on a sinking ship. My parents are from Greece, so I’ve always toyed with the idea of living in Europe. Growing up, I was of the assumption it costs a hell of a lot more than living in the States, but now, when you break it down, it’s about the same—if not less—depending on where.
Hemingway once said he could only write about America once he’d left it, and I think the only way I’d grow to forgive Florida and, even more, America is to leave it. Emigration is whispering its siren song, and I’m a mesmerized sailor who can’t help but dive in.