My home town

After four years of being away, three of those years spent in college, and as a muslim on top of that, the second I come home, step out of the car, smell the beautiful thick warm damp summer air, I am relieved. It feels amazing to be home. I automatically assume the same roles I played back then; I time traveled. These people haven't changed, but I have, and I dare not show it.
I visit my brother's house and my grandmother tells me after a glass of wine that she was jealous, or maybe even envious of my muslim friends, and wishes that I had introduced some of them to her. She has so far been the most lenient with my conversion, and doesn't treat me any different, perhaps even likes me more. She continues and surprises me when she says they failed me as a child by not showing me the way, but if I'm happy, she's happy. If I'm happy, she's happy. I can tell she's hurt, but I've never seen this before, not from her. She is the only one I felt that was completely OK and possibly even supportive of my choice, of my calling, of my destiny. Alas, even she wishes another fate for me. Ironically, I'm wishing another fate for all of them as well. All of this she tells me as we're hugging.
I leave and drive to my old best friends house to drop something off because I know he's not there. His roommate answers, a friend of his I have known for at least five years now, but time has distanced us. She's the only one home. We chat for 15 minutes and catch up on life. She has gained weight, noticably. Her life has slowed down. Why is she home on a Saturday night? But nothing has changed. No one changes in this city.
Cruising in the middle of the night with the windows down and the rap music turned up considerably loud, I'm in a wormhole, I'm back in high school. I immediately become deressed. Its not nostalgic, its not a down, its a part of the time travel. That's what it means to be in this city. I have to fit a certain role, and I easily slip back into. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. I have changed, but I am the same. This city doesn't work without the stench of mostly empty beer bottle mixed in with the beautiful humidity. That's what reminds me I'm not in 2007. Nor 2006. Its 2011. I'm out of college. I'm home, but I don't belong here anymore. I can't stand these feelings, these associations. I can't discard them, they're engrained and have stained my city that was once my center of the world. I'm asked to choose: everything you know, everything that's raised you, everyone that loves you, everything you consider familiar, yet now uncomfortable, or your religion? Why? Churches with their glorious castle-like lighting appear extremely inviting as a drive by them. Astughfirullah, but why? Doesn't God have a plan for each of us? Doesn't God love me? Doesn't God love my family? I know He does, and I know He has a plan. My support group has fallen out from under me in a split second. The half a hundred muslims that have been supporting me for the past three years just became more vital than ever. I never knew I could have a family composed of people I'd meet in college. Unfortunately, my family has gone on an indefinite and permanent vacation, so I return to my original blood family, but I don't quite fit. Do I stop pretending to be who I used to be? Will they like the new me? Will they continue to at least accept me? Why have I uprooted myself?