Notes from New York City

I disappointed everyone who knew me by wearing denim on denim. Won’t stop; can’t stop me

I disappointed everyone who knew me by wearing denim on denim. Won’t stop; can’t stop me

New York is strange.

It grabs and smacks you around and shakes you to your core until you’re flayed open, exhausted yet ready to fight another day. I fell in love with this city from the first moment—running with a stranger I had just met an hour earlier to see the skyline from Brooklyn because that’s what you do. The siren song of the city was thrumming in my veins and i couldn’t wait to go back.

So when my family decided to take a weekend trip, I jumped at the chance to tag along.

This time it was no different: the dirt everywhere that gets under your nails, in your pores. The god awful yet overpriced capuccinos (if anyone knows of a place that sells GOOD coffee in New York, please let a girl know! I still haven’t had any luck.) In fact, everything is overpriced there. The light sprinkle of rain that is not strong enough to warrant an umbrella but is still annoying. Noise everywhere: cars honking and music blasting and construction on the street and there’s not a moment of peace anywhere, unless you run to New Jersey, maybe. People’s faces, hard as stone as they walked, and as a girl who walks the line between southern hospitality and hispanic cheer, it unsettled me.

People don’t even dress well there! UGH.

I really shouldn’t like the city, but I do. It’s brilliant and wonderful and alive and it grips you and enthralls you even as it chokes you sometimes. You grow a tough shell when you live there. People either love it and won’t leave, or hate it because they can’t take the abuse anymore yet they come back for more.

I need to stop lying to myself because I know I will live there someday. It’s just a matter of time, really.