City Snapshots

Thoughts inspired by people and places.

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The City I Know

In the two years since I moved to the city that never sleeps, I’ve given birth to many dreams. And in that time, most of my dreams have been forgotten; never to be realized, they evaporated into the landfills of unripe thoughts that exist in every city. New York–like every other place–can only be as great as you make it. I’ve seen a lifelong goal of moving here in order to flourish in the intellectual and cultural gifts of the city come to fruition.

Since then, I’ve learned that experiences aren’t to be left up to mythic cities and mere spaces which over time have been transformed into postcards of photographic grandeur. I slowly began exploring New York, reading about its history, discovering its unknown alcoves, its hidden alleyways, people–alive and dead–with stories waiting to be told. I rediscovered the island and its boroughs in new ways that made me fall back in love with it. I came here in love with an idea. I exist here now in love with the city that I’ve gotten to know.

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Public Spaces, Sitting Downtown in July

I sit in one place and tens of tens of people pass by. Alone and together. In a mass they walk to separate destinations unconcerned with one another. Each with an individual goal but sharing a new space with a new stranger with each passing second. They move at different speeds. They remain in their own heads–unaffected by the sentiments of each passing stranger. They loop around without really seeing anything. Every few seconds, a new swarm emerges, unaware of and unconcerned by the bodies who would be apart of identical scenes to come.

This is a street. This is New York. And this is life. We walk around in masses but do our best to remain independent of one another. Making sure that we don’t cross into anyone’s path. We all exist together but separately. Finding contentment in the privacy but a simultaneous comfort in being a part of the herd. If the sidewalk was empty but for one, sole person, how would the awareness affect him that he was a lone walker on a single mission?

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A Walk Across the Williamsburg Bridge

Massive buildings. They’re just that: buildings. Were these tall structures ever meant to hold such massive amounts of people. On an island that houses such a massive population. Yet people are drawn to New York. Why? A tiny island isn’t meant for this. No other island has become such a monster. People are attracted to this place with such an intense desire whose magnitude is not rivaled by any other city. To be inside the skyline of which they have only ever caught an outsider’s glimpse on postcards and airplanes and reels of film.

The few who are lucky enough to transplant themselves develop a love/hate, failure/success, stay-or-leave, live-or-die debate within themselves which sometimes never goes away. No matter what made this island city different from any other trading port, one thing is for sure: the desire that exists in those outside to break through the skyline and one day walk the streets, if just for a few hours, is part of what keeps the taxis honking and the water running and the city’s blood pumping.

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Feeling the City

People in pain. People in love. People in misery. People in lust. Hopeless people. Joyful people. Content people. Furious. Elated. Confused.

All of these emotions occupy the island of Manhattan. Every feeling exists in the city at any given moment. Sometimes, they rush past you like wind and go unnoticed in the breeze. Other times, they creep through the body like a diseased cell multiplying each second. Why are these feelings so uncomfortable when they are actually acknowledged? Is it just me? Is it New York? Is it humanity?

Happy. Sad. Angry. Hurt. Unappreciated. Overlooked. Overjoyed. Orgasmic. Elated. Blurry. Washed up. Brand new. Reborn. Decrepit.

A city with so much emotion inspires more emotion. Feeling breeds itself–growing until it is a cloud of energy over the island that can grow no more.

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The New Yorker

…A rare breed of Homo sapien that has taken on a world of meaning. They are unique in appearance, behavior, and personality. The New Yorker tends to be seen in black. Dark colors are his friend, as it makes it easier to blend into the masses. Relaxed fitting clothes and comfortable–yet stylish–shoes are also commonly found on this creature. When traversing the city donned in darkness, the New Yorker maintains an air of disinterest. He appears to notice nothing of his surroundings, because it is safer that way. “Mind your own business” is his motto, and “Leave me alone” is his mantra. If any dialogue is directed towards him from a panhandler or surveyor, the New Yorker has the unique ability to breeze past it without a flinch. Other brands of humanity are apt to stop or at least hesitate when a call is made for their attention.

There are various New York personality types. The loner. The egotist. The socialite. The humanitarian. The intellectual. The adventurer. All of these can be combined into one specimen, or each can be seen as individual. There is no rule to personality, except that the city impacts it. No one stays the same as they were upon introduction to the island. It changes people. Molds them into one of its own. And if the person can’t be transformed, the city spits him out.

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Why write?

We walk by people. We interact with people without giving a second thought to what tragedies they’ve experienced. We all put on a tough face for everyday life. We smile, we frown, we laugh, we joke, we tear up and get angry at ourselves because of it. Who is the man sitting next to you on the subway? What defines him besides tarnished shoes, a shoulder bag, and a name? How do we cope with our own lives when everyone else is dealing with their own?

I like to write about people because it gives me the opportunity to listen and be heard. I love finding out what people personally judge as the significant aspects of their life. And I love sharing with the reader that there is more to life than himself. We all exist together and need each other to exist.