Go Back Where You Came From
I’m contrary. Some would say that I’m downright bratty. So when my ex broke up with me on Christmas Eve by telling me to ‘go back to your dirty country or Brooklyn - I don’t care which - and leave Manhattan to people who want to have fun,’ my first thought was, ‘NO, you fucking racist!’ I didn’t say it out loud. I’d spent the last five years trying to convince him (me?) that he had a normal amount of bias and ignorance; that it’s easy to grow out of bias by being present and respectful. So I couldn’t call him a racist in that moment without feeling like an even bigger idiot for white-washing his prejudices. Like every gas lighter, he encouraged me to cut off my friends and family one by one. I didn’t have any confidence left and I was downright depressed after going through a series of unfortunate events. I didn’t want to be a powerful lawyer anymore. I didn’t want to be in Manhattan anymore. But I refused to lea...