I have always loved the idea of
living in a big city. The panorama, the skyline, the energy. New York is known
for its diversity, availability, night life, and the food. Especially if you
grow up watching Sex in the City, it becomes a dream to move to the big apple and
fall in love. When my job announced that I will be going to New York for a few weeks, I was beyond ecstatic.
I spend most of my time attending
conferences and workshops. The remaining days I stayed with a good friend, who have been living in New York her
entire life.
I wanted to get the best of New York. That means avoiding all tourist sites and
overpopulated areas. There is nothing I despise more than tourism. There is nothing authentic about it. Nonetheless, I was yearning to explore a city that I have been taught to love.
The energy of this city is wonderful. The cultural diversity. The smart
witty people, the vastly different neighborhoods, the ambition, the dreams that are
larger than life. Although I was enjoying myself, I could not help but wonder what
about this place people love so much? New York is not exotic, it is exhausting.
Something about its liveliness is quite depressing. I found it to be too pretentious. Over 8 million people and I felt it vacant.
Echoing. Beyond the ambition and dreams lie heavy eyes and emptiness. Perhaps the idea of this place is enchanting. Perhaps I am not a city person as I once thought. Perhaps I enjoy the quite nights and wide streets. or perhaps I have no association to this place. New York is a reality I cannot
claim as mine.
Thank you New York, but I must go now.
