Return to Manhattan after 30 year

At 4:23 a.m., I see a light on in the building across the street. Someone else is also awake like me. I can’t sleep, and I’m standing by the window, looking outside. I left Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and I’m having a hard time adjusting to this new place. My husband says it feels like being on a cruise ship, which makes no sense.

After 30 years, I’m back in Manhattan. When we first got married, we couldn’t afford a place of our own, so we lived in SoHo with my husband’s roommate. As the rent kept going up, the roommate moved back to Seoul, and we looked for a cheaper place. That’s how we ended up in an old factory building at the end of the East River in Greenpoint — exactly 30 years ago.

"My father used to say, ‘Once you leave the old city center, it’s hard to come back.’"

He moved from Nam-sandong in central Seoul to Itaewon and always said that. Like him, I often mumbled to myself,

“Once you leave Manhattan, it’s hard to come back.”

My kids love Greenpoint. Of course — they were born and raised there. Young people started moving in, and the neighborhood became trendy. My kids enjoyed it and acted like hipsters. I thought they would leave once they graduated and got jobs, but they didn’t. Since I didn’t want to keep cooking for them, I was the one who had to leave.

I believe I raised them with all my heart. When my husband called me, I would often ignore him, but when the kids called me, I jumped up like a fish flopping on a cutting board. I gave them my youth, my energy, and even gave up my beloved home for them.

Greenpoint got crowded and messy with all the new development. I always knew I would leave one day. Now, the kids have their own lives, and I want to live mine freely, doing what I enjoy.

“If you want to eat Korean food, come visit,” I told them.

“Mom, be careful when crossing the street. Don’t just cross anywhere because you’re in a hurry,” they say.

Now I hear the same nagging I used to tell them when they were little. Maybe I look small and lost to them on the busy streets of Manhattan. They scold me and even hold my hand when I cross the street.

“Take care of your own lives. I paid your college tuition — that’s enough. If you get married, do it on your own. I’ll just come as a guest. And when you have kids, don’t even think about asking me to raise them. Raising you was already enough.”

Your lives are important, but so are your dad’s and mine.