The Commute to the City
It is with great joy I announce, I finally made it. Never underestimate your capability to dream, never underestimate yourself. I was just like you. I recall being on tumblr and searching for tumblr-esque pictures of New York City. As I filled my vision with these alluring images of the city that never sleeps, I began to dream.
I saw myself walking the pavements of the concrete jungle. I could see pieces of dried up gum on the ground as I walked. People. People just flocking around in every corner. You could see tourists with their I *heart NY shirts, hipsters with their man buns and vintage bicycle t-shirts and beards, fashionistas draped from their bowler hat on their head to litas on their feet in matte black. It's reviving.
There I was on the LIRR taking the train to the city. Outside the window, I watched trees and greenery and farmland morph into sheds, sheds into houses, houses into red brick buildings. My final stop. Jamaica. From Jamaica, I transferred to Penn Station.
On the train to Penn Station, I observed. To my left sat 3 men. The first man by the window looked Italian, his face reminded me of Mario weirdly enough. I giggled to myself at my own foolishness. Beside him was an African-American gentleman in dreadlocks wearing a formal yellow shirt. Opposing them, was a mystery man who had grey hair. They were all talking about mortgages and life insurance and it was really fun to eavesdrop and listen to the voices of the people. I also remember this young gentleman who wore a purple shirt with his blazer on his arm. He wasn't sure whether to listen to his music or read his book or eavesdrop the uncles beside him. He was quite a looker, I have to admit.
We finally got down to our stop and in the train station, some weird man began to follow us and started murmuring something I couldn't quite make out. Down in the station, your ears filled with music. Literally, underground artist. On one side, I saw a man dressed in a hat, shoes and full suit all in white from head to toe and he sang the blues if I'm not mistaken. By the tunnel I could hear bass being played and I think to myself, these talented and struggling artists deserve more recognition.
Mum, Toi and I found our way and out and there it was. You could smell New York City. The mixed scents of sewage steam and rat urine. Yellow cabs honking and business people with their suit cases rushing to work. It was surreal. I was back. Frankly, I didn't know where I was. My mum was far too ill to give us a tour. After all, we had come to the city for a doctor's appointment for mum.
New Yorkers didn't cross the street when the light turned to the white walking man, they crossed the street when there were no cars. Youngsters commuted on their skateboards, cruisin down the busy roads. To be a New Yorker, you have got to walk. For people who know me best, I hate moving. Yes, it is difficult to move a muscle.
I caught a glimpse of the Empire State Building and I remembered lining up to get to the top. Good God. I'm still tryna reason out to myself why I should do it again. I'm trying to give you New York as it is. I still see homeless people with their cardboard cutouts wanting a spare of change. I see people selling jewelry for $5. If only I had a photographer around me at that time.
Fear not, I will be making frequent trips to the city from now on. I love subway rides. There is something so exciting of sliding in a MetroCard and waiting for the subway. In that short moment of me being in New York, I wished hard that I would stumble upon Brandon Stanton of HONY. I knew what I wanted to tell him. My boyfriend's dad has passed on that very day as I was on the train to NY. It shattered me. It shattered me because I felt so much pain in such a beautiful place. I'd like to express my deepest condolences alongside my prayers to the whole family. I wish I wasn't so far away, further even. I send you my love from the other side of the world.
I feel as though I haven't covered much ground to this post. There would most probably be a part II for this.
thilamisu
I saw myself walking the pavements of the concrete jungle. I could see pieces of dried up gum on the ground as I walked. People. People just flocking around in every corner. You could see tourists with their I *heart NY shirts, hipsters with their man buns and vintage bicycle t-shirts and beards, fashionistas draped from their bowler hat on their head to litas on their feet in matte black. It's reviving.
There I was on the LIRR taking the train to the city. Outside the window, I watched trees and greenery and farmland morph into sheds, sheds into houses, houses into red brick buildings. My final stop. Jamaica. From Jamaica, I transferred to Penn Station.
On the train to Penn Station, I observed. To my left sat 3 men. The first man by the window looked Italian, his face reminded me of Mario weirdly enough. I giggled to myself at my own foolishness. Beside him was an African-American gentleman in dreadlocks wearing a formal yellow shirt. Opposing them, was a mystery man who had grey hair. They were all talking about mortgages and life insurance and it was really fun to eavesdrop and listen to the voices of the people. I also remember this young gentleman who wore a purple shirt with his blazer on his arm. He wasn't sure whether to listen to his music or read his book or eavesdrop the uncles beside him. He was quite a looker, I have to admit.
We finally got down to our stop and in the train station, some weird man began to follow us and started murmuring something I couldn't quite make out. Down in the station, your ears filled with music. Literally, underground artist. On one side, I saw a man dressed in a hat, shoes and full suit all in white from head to toe and he sang the blues if I'm not mistaken. By the tunnel I could hear bass being played and I think to myself, these talented and struggling artists deserve more recognition.
Mum, Toi and I found our way and out and there it was. You could smell New York City. The mixed scents of sewage steam and rat urine. Yellow cabs honking and business people with their suit cases rushing to work. It was surreal. I was back. Frankly, I didn't know where I was. My mum was far too ill to give us a tour. After all, we had come to the city for a doctor's appointment for mum.
New Yorkers didn't cross the street when the light turned to the white walking man, they crossed the street when there were no cars. Youngsters commuted on their skateboards, cruisin down the busy roads. To be a New Yorker, you have got to walk. For people who know me best, I hate moving. Yes, it is difficult to move a muscle.
I caught a glimpse of the Empire State Building and I remembered lining up to get to the top. Good God. I'm still tryna reason out to myself why I should do it again. I'm trying to give you New York as it is. I still see homeless people with their cardboard cutouts wanting a spare of change. I see people selling jewelry for $5. If only I had a photographer around me at that time.
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| My best impression of a HONY pic |
thilamisu
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