I moved to Woodside, New York, (i.e. Queens) twenty-five days ago. Of those twenty-five days, eight (plus a few nights and traveling) were spent in New Jersey, four were in Massachusetts, one was at Six Flags, and for three of them I had guests. That leaves about seven days in total of time at my new apartment, with no more than two or three consecutive nights at a time.
So I guess you could say I’m still settling in.
I haven’t stopped moving in about two months. And in some ways, my mind hasn’t caught up to my body. I’m beginning to think that I left it somewhere in the alleyways of Prague or in one of the seemingly hundreds of planes, trains, cars, buses, and taxis I’ve taken in that time. One would think that I would be looking forward to rest, and silence, and routine. But I’m becoming afraid of what’s going to happen when the lights stop blurring and the floor stops spinning and everything around me is still. (Ah, reality. It’s like a harsh slap of sunshine the morning after a one-night stand: unexpected and unwelcome.)
In some ways I still feel like I’m living in a foreign country. My neighborhood in Queens is primarily Hispanic and Asian—I don’t think I’ve bumped into a single other non-Hispanic white twenty-something in all the time I’ve been here (which, as I just recounted, is not that much time I guess). I’m starting to think I should dig out my old Spanish textbooks just so I can order takeout without repeating myself a dozen times. I hear Spanish music at all hours of the night; I don’t recognize half the brands at the grocery/convenience stores; there are shops under the expressway on Roosevelt Ave that make me feel like I’m back in Beijing—they sell nothing but cheap goods like Hello Kitty backpacks and knock-off Nikes, which they wrap in paper-thin, dusty black plastic bags.
Conversely, I haven’t seen a Starbucks in days. Or a CVS. Or an Au Bon Pain. Or any chain that you could name, for that matter. And that is unbelievably refreshing.
New York exudes excitement. You can feel it every time you walk out the door. The noise, the lights, the traffic, the people…it’s trite but true. And it’s beginning to hit me that I’m really here and a part of it now. On 9/11 I was returning from Six Flags with a few friends, and as we crossed the bridge from New Jersey to the city we had an unbelievable view of the twin blue lights shooting up from Ground Zero into the darkness of a clear, low-cloud night. As we got closer you could see just how strong those beams were—I’ve never seen anything like it. It was so eerie. When I got home I ran in to tell Helen, and we went up to our roof deck so she could see it. Standing there, looking out at the lights over Queens towards the Manhattan skyline, I thought to myself: “this is my home now.”
Yesterday I walked from the R to my apartment without even noticing—I just looked up and I was there. And on the phone today to Chase Bank, where I now have an account, I rattled off my address without having to mentally flip through two or three before remembering the right one. So I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on myself that there are still pictures to hang and dishes to sort and the only things in my fridge right now besides condiments are garlic, onions, pineapple chunks, week-old spaghetti sauce, and a solo Amstel Light that’s not even mine.
A house doesn’t become a home overnight. And a city isn’t yours until you’ve thrown up on the subway at least once.
p.s. If this video doesn’t get you excited about New York, I don’t know what will.
Oh God! It’s true, you need to do the initiating vomiting on the subway.
I’m glad you’re on your way to making this place home. But that is one of the best things about New York – it can feel very much like home when you want it to, but it’s still always new and exciting!
And I’m totally with you about the not-wanting-to-stop-moving-or-having-time-to-think-feeling. Let’s start our own wedding craft business?