Guess Who's Coming To Dinner? No one, ever.

I reside in Harlem. The neighborhood is not a borough, but it is just as much a geographical identity to residents of Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and even Staten Island. It has a distinct NYC identity within its borough similar to Riverdale, Brighton Beach, Washington Heights or... *thinks about Queens hard* Far Rockaway.

To call Harlem home is hard. It is where I lay my head and hang my hat, but I haven't done much hanging out here until recently. When I moved here in 2008, I'd just started a new job in the Bronx and was thrilled to live in "the city." The subway was a mere 2 blocks away (no two-zone commute!) and most of what I needed was withing a few blocks walking distance. The downside: I was in the hood, yet again. It hurts to commute from one hood to work in another hood. Growing up in Jamaica, I've seen its share of craziness, and when I worked in the area, as much as Jamaica had changed, it was certainly the same. Minutes within arriving home from work one evening, a friend called to ensure my safety. She had heard on the news about a shooting on the a bus route near my office. It had happened around the time I'd left work.

What hurts more, is the solitude that comes from living in the hood. My social life mostly existed in downtown Manhattan (where I went to school) and Brooklyn (where my friends live and play). For a long time, I didn't hang out up here. It was always me, my Metrocard and a good book to keep me company between here and... wherever the fun was. What happened when I turned the tables? Here's one story:

A couple years back, I invited some friends over for dinner. They freaked about travelling up here, and decide to meet up in order to travel together. I was excited about finally having guests, cleaning and cooking for their visit. They called from the subway (again, 2 blocks from my apartment) to meet them. Once in my place, we ate, drank and laughed. Two guests nervously checked their watches and glanced out my window as day turned into night. By 9pm, they were packing up to leave. All together. We should do this again, they said.

We never did this again. I think my close friends have been to my place once, maybe twice. They aren't ever inclined to return and I don't ever ask them to return. I visit them in their respective neighborhoods, resigned to the fact that, outside of meeting for after-work things in the city, this is the only way I will ever see them.

It hurts when people are truly scared for their safety in a place you call home. It's hard to be a gracious host when your guests second-guess their every reason for visiting. 

I began to make my visits outside of Harlem scarce. Simply put, if it wasn't convenient for me to get there via public transit, I wasn't going. I then added the caveat of getting home in under an hour. This cut my social life down a LOT. I've only recently started visiting Brooklyn again, and I really have to want to go. I find myself resentful every time knowing I'm prepping myself for a long trip there, a longer trip back, and most of all, that most if not all of those people would be hard-pressed to make the trip for you. The reality is, no wants to come to Harlem. It's too far. Nothing's "up there." It's sketchy, ghetto, dirty, wack. I can count on one hand the number of times I've invited people over or even in the area to hang out. I'd much rather save myself the embarrassment, like in this scenario, which happened this evening:

A friend who has just moved to the neighborhood sees me and two other friends out. For once, I can walk home, but the other two have a bit of a walk to the subway. I know the neighborhood-it is not the safest. They are both freaked out by the walk and are specifically told to walk down one block over another because it's "shady." One inquires about the nearest grocery store, which is in the direction where she's walking. She asks, "Am I going to be OK?"

I'm brought back to my college years, when a friend visited me in Queens. We walked around the neighborhood just to get out of the house. I had to assure her that we'd be OK between police sirens and loud noises of the ghetto: people yelling, loud music blasting from cars, buses and trucks on the main streets and nearby highway. We never spoke after her visit.

Back to my story. Was this girl going to be OK in her pit stop for pita bread and hummus? Her guess is as good as any, but I do the same walk all the time. I live here. One person's "bad" is another's "ok" and the next's "terrible." I wonder if I'm the one tripping. I have a roof over my head. My rent's decent, I can get to and from work in less than 30 minutes, and I live alone. I have a nearby Starbucks and NYSC, but surely those perks of gentrification weren't meant for me. Could I move to somewhere "less sketchy?" Sure, but even the worst deterrents haven't made me reach for packing supplies.

Why aren't I alarmed by the things my friends are? Should I move somewhere more socially acceptable? Or do I need to just work harder at making my living space more welcoming for my loved ones? Or do I find friends who aren't hung up on my ZIP code?