Irreplaceable Blog # 23

I don’t know how to suitably pioneer this, so I’m just going to begin writing. Growing up in Nigeria, all the way up to my current days as a young adult, Ive been forced to say goodbye to the things I cherished. My first puppy was taken from me because my landlord did not want any pets. My intangible relationship with my brother was also robbed from me, except it was taken over a period of time. My pit-bull pup named pickles was also amongst the things I was forced to say goodbye to, my power ranger action figure, and my first bicycle, but all of these- with time, have gradually but surely become just a mere thought as beloved as they were to me. All of these items/things except for one thing that I cant seem to let go of. It was on the corner of Colonia Boulevard and Saint George in Rahway. Till this day I still go bye and sit outside of it more often than I should for it no longer belongs to me, reminiscing and thinking.
It was not the largest, but it was definitely amongst the prettiest on the whole street. It was sky blue in color, with white shutters that complemented the blue oh so gracefully; Almost made it seem like there was a little piece of the heavens here on earth. A vast driveway and a big backyard were some of the things that I miss about this place. In the backyard was a set of swings and an over the ground pool where there were various cookouts and pool parties with friends and family. In the second part of the driveway was where I had my first huffy basketball rim, and believe it or not, my brother and I assembled it. Funny thing about the rim, my dear and beloved mother bought it for my brother and I, but in order to keep peace, and prevent any type of altercation, she had to say my father bought it for us…what type of man was he??, but that’s neither here nor there. It was on that rim that was put up in the driveway that I learned to dunk, and eventually broke the rim..silly old me.
The neighborhood was peaceful, friendly and quiet with the biggest ruckus, as much as I hate to this, coming from us, mainly from that guy called my father. Nothing in this world is perfect, and he epitomized that statement. My home was the one thing that besides my siblings and mother was very dear to me and also cherished. In all the comfort, safety and happiness I found in my home, my father was the constant reminder that its still just a house. A home is where you feel completely comfortable, while a house, in my perspective, is just a place of shelter. His presence turned my home into a house. Every waking moment with him in the house made me outcast myself to the “play-room” as you get to read later on. He stood against everything a home represented,- wanted no peace, family moments, laughter, nothing of that nature. Everything that brought even the slightest smile across anyone’s face was frowned upon, while he was present in the house that is. He was the ultimate asshole; finding pleasure in our misery. He would eventually due to his actions, the way he treated us, and the eventual loss of my home, seal his fate with me. I found myself beginning to hate him with no way of going back

Loretta was not just a neighbor, but also a friend, a caring one at that. One plenty occasions, she was the one who took the initiative to dial 911 on behalf of my mother as her scream for help traveled through the air to nearest ears that were open. Her and her husband were the friendliest older couple I have ever met. I can’t completely remember the name of her husband so well call him Lorettas husband for now, but Loretta, was a sweetheart. Every holiday, including those nationally celebrated and those that weren’t, we were always trading gifts and wine bottles. by the age of 18, I must have tasted about 25 different types of wine from all corners of the world. And that is not an exaggeration. She opened my eyes and taste buds to Italian food, as we opened hers to Nigerian cuisine also, not to mention, she was gardener, and a great one at that. On frequent occasions, she would bring freshly grown tomatoes and peppers over to us in abundant amounts, and boy, if you cook often, you would be instantly notice that something tasted fresh. During the early days of spring of every spring that I knew Lorettas husband, we would always sit on the chair on his front yard and talk about how shitty the Knicks were, debating and placing friendly wagers that the knicks would have a worse record than the preceding season next season. Ironic thing is that we were both die hard knick fans..its quite funny looking back at those days now and I would give almost anything to have those days/neighbors back, which is part of the reason why I cant let this place go.
Inside was three rooms an attic and a play room, which was my favorite part of the house. The playroom, though not the biggest space in the world, but decent in size was where I spent almost all, if not all of my time. It composed of a TV and a kick ass sound system temporarily erased our worries at the time away. We had what was then, the hottest gaming console on the market, a Sony play station 2, a computer, a couch that was just incredibly comfortable, and finally, the most comfortable carpet I ever lay my feet on. Everyday after school, my first stop was the dual door refrigerator to grab a drink, and then off to the playroom to do my homework as I listened to music. Followed by an infinite amount of hours in front of the TV, watching nickelodeon. That room was my getaway from the problems I had to endure cause of that man. That room was also the room where I introduced my first major girlfriend to my mother and the rest of my family, the same room where my father slapped me across my face, the same room where I learned how to do the “heel toe” which was a popular dance at the time. The room that had numerous of my drawings across the whole room as if there was a holiday that designated picture to be hung up like Christmas decorations do. My personal dinning room, and room, though it was a play room, but more than normal, I found myself waking up on the couch during the wee hours of the morning, only to drag myself in a zombie type method to my room, which I shared with my brother.
My sister’s room was right next to the playroom, and boy, was it obvious to tell whose room that was. Barbie dolls everywhere, mix matched colorful shoes all over the place, dresses, skinny jeans, and hair tie things. She was not your normal 13-year-old, but in the best of ways. Bro, can you please help me put this picture on my wall, bro can u help me fix my window, it wont close. The silly rabbit had forgotten she had put the lock on when she opened it. Cant complain though because I loved helping her in any way I could, but I couldn’t figure out if I especially did not care because it was my beloved sister I was helping, or if it was because I just loved being helpful around the house.
Me and my brothers room is next, it was about 16 x 16 in size and was obviously obvious whose room it belonged to just by approaching the door and looking at the sign that was drawn and pasted on the back of the door. “no girls allowed, please knock” in reference to my sister. It was childish if you ask me, but had to be done for my sister had a nasty habit of just barging in the room unannounced or without knocking. The drawings flowed from the walls of the playroom down to the room. Pictures that were drawn of me and my brother, favorite NBA players, cars I loved and would love to own someday were other types of pictures that were on display throughout the room. My bed was on the right and his was on the left. He got what I wanted as I love sleeping by the window. The room had a perfect view to the outside world, but I had to go on to my brothers side of the room to see the outside world, which more than often, got on his nerves.
The living room, was just that, a living room. Though rarely occupied, it was still beautiful. It had fluffy red wall-to-wall carpeting, a huge fireplace, and white walls with dashes of pink. A huge sliding door that led to the backyard, but at the same token gave a view of Lorettas backyard also. Black leather couches, and a surround sound system that had a lot of “HMPH”. The living room was the second thing that you walked into upon entering the house- the kitchen was the first. The living room was where my sister had her major first party, and boy did it turn out good. She had about 30 of her friends over, and it was like running our own chuck e cheese for the day. The one song that I cant seem to forget playing that whole day is by jimmy eat world, and the name was “the middle.” Me and my sister literally grabbed two remote controlls and started singing to each other like some American idol rejects,-
It just takes some time,
little girl, you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything, everything will be just fine,
Everything, everything will be alright. (alright)
Everyone crowded around us and cheered us on.. wow, good ol’ days. That is one particular moment in my life that I will forever be grateful for and also glad I had a chance to experience. As much as I loved this place, it was taken from me within the blink of an eye.

"Ring ring", “is Mr Akinyemi home?”, “no he is not, how can I help you” I replied, “well, my name is Mathew Pavlushkin, and im here to inform you that the new owners will be moving in 3 weeks” “WHAT?!?!?, you cant be serious I replied shocked and hurt. “Yes I am sir, please make sure you deliver the message, have a good day”
He replied in a such a way that in comparison to the coldest day of the coldest winter, it was summer. My so-called father had sold the house without our knowledge, leaving me, my mother, brother and sister to find a house within that time frame. I was shocked, offended, sickened, heated, poignant, aggravated, full of rage, disappointed, and lastly robbed. I never thought the day would come when I had to say goodbye to it. I was in shock for about a week, grief for the second, and tears all through out the third. A piece of me was taken from me. It is fair to say that materialistic things can be replaced or bought back. I beg to differ, memories I had in that house cannot be paid for, or bought, and I know, it was a memory, and as long as I have it, its mine to keep, but for some reason, getting forced to move out doesn’t make it the same anymore. Those memories don’t have as much “BANG” as they could potentially have if we didn’t have to pack up and leave.
As we see, animals and humans are not the only things that people can get emotionally attached to. It can be places, things, smells, or even pictures; for me, 70 Colonia boulevard, Rahway NJ 07065 is the address that was. As said earlier, it wasn't the biggest of houses, but adequate enough. A place where tears were shed, bonds created, and believe it or not, love actually found. I find myself driving by this house almost every day, as I only seem to remember the good memories whenever I drive by. On occasion, i actually drive out of the way to get a glance, with the most recent visit being today on my way home from work. Stopping to think of the holidays we shared there, and having the best neighbor one could ask for, trading gifts and bottles of wine every thanksgiving and Christmas, and just having someone to relax with on warm spring afternoons. Most people have a difficult time with loosing things that have life, such as people, or animals, but i seem to be having the most difficult time saying a final goodbye to Colonia Boulevard. I cant exactly say why, whether it be because we’ve had such terrible luck with houses and neighbors both in our recent searches, or maybe the manner in which we had to leave the house.. i can only laugh at that situation now, but that is not the one at hand. I just cant seem to find the strength to say a final goodbye, but writing this might have helped me understand why i cant say goodbye to it, and why i keep going back to it more than often. Nothing has changed, still blue as ever with the white shutters, and the white with gold trimmed storm door. It is as if it is waiting for me, being loyal, and telling me that it will always be there. I was robbed of something that meant to so much to me. They say everything happens for a reason, and that when one door closes, numerous ones open. HA!, till tomorrow, im still waiting for my reason to be forced to say goodbye, striving to make sense of why things had to end the way they did, and I definitely don’t want another door to open, except for one exception; the doors to 70 Colonia Boulevard