NYC

After a 2 year stint, I found myself back in NYC for New Year's Eve. It was a quite epic trip with family coming in from Los Angeles, Atlanta, and San Francisco. After scouring the various hotels that could accommodate a big group at a reasonable price, we opted on renting out a two-story apartment with a back garden and a rooftop via airbnb. It was smack in the middle of East Williamsburg and a few blocks away from my old studio loft space. It felt familiar and distant. The apartment was owned by a creative couple, one in music and the other in fashion. In a word, their apartment was sensory. Every piece of the apartment seemed thoughtful, slightly quirky, and attached to a story. The apartment was comfortable and cozy and piqued my curiosity throughout. I would not mind staying again at their humble abode and recommending it to friends.

Being back on the subway and on the streets again brought back some introspection as I gathered my thoughts about the city. I equated New York City to an abusive relationship you just couldn't get out of. One that you know is not good for you and you want to leave yet there's something about them that keeps drawing you to them. A bit sadistic. You put up with their abuse because you see a light at the end of the tunnel. That beyond the random things thrown at you on a daily basis, you can see yourself getting stronger and wiser as your relationship deepens. You're hoping that the abuse will subside and you can learn to love each other fully, yet it always seems just out of your grasp. You tell yourself that it's unhealthy though you are captivated by the connection you share. I had to ween myself off New York. Distance myself. Forget about it's quirks and things that I was drawn to. I convinced myself I was over the city.

Yet two years later, I found myself among the highrises and the characters scattered among the sidewalks and the subway. I found myself roaming the streets late at night from one place to the next, to one scene to the next, soaking up everything like it was my last night out before heading home. The trip felt like one long day where I didn't know where the last left off and the next began. The days were marked by the routine to the shower- cleansing myself from the night before, preparing myself for what the next day would bring. The trip was vices I found so familiar from the indulgences of food and liquor to the quiet subway crushes between stops and between bars. Transience was settling back into my system and I remembered that individualism reigned supreme in this city. Thoughts about how smothering and alone the city could be at the same time triggered my synapses. Though as lonely and how extreme the city had pushed me, it pushed me. It made me feel alive and that something was real. Life was real. I could feel the weather, the people, the noise, the city itself. Everything had a purpose. And me being intertwined within the synergy of the city made me feel like I also had a purpose.

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