True… — Photo by Diego Cupolo

Standing in the middle of a rumbling J train, my shoulders weighed down by the 30-pound bag on my back, I made sure to get one last look at the tar-glazed, graffiti-covered rooftops rolling by the window on my way to Grand Central.

To my right, a Hispanic couple sweet-talked into each other’s ears, giggling after every exchange. To my left, a young Polish woman smiled as she watched a mother entertain her restless newborn. Behind me, a Middle Eastern businessman exhaled in frustration as my overstuffed backpack repeatedly bumped into his arm.

Though the scenario was far from extraordinary, it was perfect. Every time I travel, even if only for a few days, I have these moments, these reflections of how much I truly enjoy living in the organized neuroticism that is New York City, the international sample platter that is Brooklyn and, most of all, the unpredictable sphere of Latin flavor and creative energy that is my neighborhood — our neighborhood.

I hadn’t even crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and I was already missing everything from my long-winded neighbors, to the super-cheap bars that always play the right music and those late night rehabilitation binges at La Isla Cuchifritos. While my time away would be limited and with good company, I began thinking about my return to the only place I’ve ever comfortably called home … Bushwick.

Enjoy the holidays everybody.