Prince Tea House

Dear Diary, 

I didn't think I'd ever be so happy in my life. Running away from home robbed me of a piece of my soul. I wasn't sure if I would ever find peace again. It took some time for me to appreciate my choice of being selfish. Because my small upper east side apartment had become my safe haven. I think about everyone and everything I left behind now and then, but then I remember the world we live in. My grandfather used to tell me, "Eat or be eaten." I believe the same sequence of events would have occurred if the situation had been reversed or placed on literally anyone else.

Each morning when I awoke, my heart felt lighter, and I felt the sun peek through my luxury silk drapes and hit my face. My body starts to warm, and for the first time, I am thankful to be a part of this world. Since I moved to New York, life has been treating me well. It's as if this life had been waiting for me all along. It was too surreal; I believe in coincidences, but this was not one of them. Everything had gone so smoothly and in alignment. I distinctly remember it as if it were yesterday.

I had just gotten off the coach bus and was struggling to get the handle off my rolling suitcase. I started pulling and tugging so hard that I accidentally knocked into someone behind me, who was unfortunate enough to be wearing a white polyester shirt and holding a cup of black decaf coffee. I was embarrassed, so you can imagine how I felt when I saw the tall, blue-eyed handsome stranger looking down at me, concerned about the decaf dripping down his shirt onto his pants. We ended up talking for twenty minutes, and he invited me to join him for tea. Through the discussions of our disastrous childhood and interests in tea, art, and music we instantly connected. I did question why he held a cup of decaf coffee if he was a tea fanatic in which he explained to me his love for trying new things. My first amazing day in New York City had begun. The first of many to come. 

Six months later, here I am in a happy, committed, and stable relationship for the first time. I didn't have many role models in my life, no one to teach me how to love or be loved. He's been patient with me, and he's introduced me to a way of life that I would never have imagined for myself. I work for the New York Times, smell of Chanel, drink Rose, and dress in Burberry. As we began to get comfortable with each other I told him about my unconditional love for writing. Ironically, he had a hookup with famous bloggers in the city. One thing led to another and I ended up taking multiple small writing positions and in time I landed my dream job. Sometimes I think about the little black girl who grew up on Chicago's south side. My family was merely just blood, I never had much support waking up, much food going to bed, or clothes on my body. I've been beaten, bled out, and torn down, there were times when I thought I'd never see another day, and I wasn't upset about it. Somehow, someway I managed to raise myself in a family full of addicts. Every day, I thank God for the strength and courage that I have. I thank Jesus Christ, my Lord, and Savior, for blessing me with love, light, prosperity, wealth, and happiness.

Today, I am blessed to be sitting in the Prince Tea House at 204 E 10th St in New York, NY. I can't help but smile as I look around. The decor, the cuisine, and the setting are all outstanding. I detect a faint scent of vanilla bean body spray coming from the right side of me, where a group of ladies sip grapefruit jasmine tea and begin to consider their smoked salmon sandwiches. Food truly is an art by itself, I look around and distinctly inspect what the people in the room have ordered to aid in my decision of what I'd like to eat. I'm mesmerized by the way ingredients are put together in New York. I see crab meat flatbread, a beautiful display of crisped bread, with hot melted mozzarella cheese, topped with fresh basil. A sight for sore eyes. The brown sugar bubble crepes, scones, purple yam mille, and green tea cake catch my eye. Back in my neighborhood people probably don't even know that life like this exists beyond the dirtied streets of Chicago. 

Because there is so much to take in, the writer in me pulls my hand to my pen, straight to the paper, and urges me to write about everything I see and witness in the tea house. To observe the way people in the city interact with each other. There was something particular about the way of life over here that was riveting. It takes you in, makes you want to be a part of it. I had come to realize that everything is not what it seems. Over the course of the past few months, I have witnessed people pack up their life and move somewhere to forget their past. Though I carry the baggage and resentment of pain and poverty, I have not forgotten my roots. My red Dior lipstick and Louis Vuitton bag do not define me. My beautiful brown skin and thick dark hair remind me of who I am and the power that I possess as a woman of color. The undersized poor girl who lived a life of cruelty and despair advises me to enjoy the life I have today. I deserve this, I have worked so hard to become the exquisite, strong, and respectable woman that I am today.

I have decided that I am going to order afternoon tea for two and wait for my love to arrive. So this is what good living is.....