“I hate Alabama.”
That is what I say daily, without thinking, without feeling, without any thought after it.
I used to not think about what I was saying when I said those words.
“I hate Alabama”.
But now when I think it, all I can think of is the little parts of Alabama that are so close to me.
I think of the bamboo near my house, I think of the sign that says “Open produce” on one side and “Just married” on the other. I think of how I never figured out what that sign meant, and why it was there. I think of the old pickup truck where I met my best friend. I think of all these things, and they all are here, in Alabama, and they will probably all stay in Alabama for as long as the earth travels around the sun.
“I hate Alabama.”
I think the reason I used to, and still do say this sometimes is because Alabama has always been subconsciously attached to my problems. I always think, “If I could just get out of this town, out of this state, out of this place, everything would be fine.”. So I would say “I hate Alabama.” because apparently a geographic landmark is the reason everyone has problems.
When I think of Alabama I don’t just think of objects like, pickup trucks, bamboo sticks, and random signs. I also think of memories. I think of going down a hill on a four wheeler with my cousin that was so tall I consider it a mountain. I think of crashing a golf cart into that same cousin’s, friend’s car. I think of classrooms, and laughs, and smiles, and even tears.
I don’t hate Alabama. However, I am not here to say that I am going to stop saying “I hate Alabama”. Because though I can try to stop it is very hard to stop something when you are the something you are stopping.
I’m sorry that I connect you with my bitterness Alabama, I hope we can still be friends.
