New York

I'm flying to New York City in less than two weeks, and as much as I've told myself over the last few years that New York isn't what it used to be, and that it's lost a lot of its old charm... there's still an undeniable surge of energy you feel the moment you step out onto any of its bustling streets and feel the sheer electricity of its vibration. You'll hear the ceaseless sounds of yellow taxi cabs honking in traffic (or, lets face it, honking for no reason whatsoever), the deliverymen laughing or shouting jests at one another, bits and pieces of conversations of passersby. As much as I'd like to say I'm "over" New York-- the truth is, I am very much still in love with its entire essence.

My romance with New York began on my first visit when I was sixteen. I had been accepted as a scholarship student at a dance school on the upper west side, and as our plane flew over Manhattan and I saw the giant sky scrapers for the first time, I felt an excitement that pulsed through my entire body. Little did I know, that that was only a small precursor to the thrill that I was about to feel when driving to our hotel. I remember looking out of the backseat window of our cab and being absolutely mesmerized-- SO many people, SO many colors and lights, and buildings towering so high I couldn't even see where they reached. I decided right then that one day, I would live there. Later, I remembered what my mother had told me when I was eight years old and about to take my first ballet class at a new studio. I was extremely nervous (almost to the point of tears) and the big lump in my throat didn't help matters any! I've always had bad stage fright and nervousness before a performance, audition, or being in any new setting, and that moment especially was difficult as I was completely new to the area (we had just moved to North America only a year or two prior) and I didn't know a soul. As my mom was leading me towards the class, she pointed to a painting on the wall--- A black and gold painting of dancers in New York on stage-- she pointed to that framed picture and said to me, "See? One day you will be in New York doing the same thing! Go in, Ika." Needless to say, I loved the ballet class, and as I sat in the cab that late afternoon many years later, staring out the window in amazement-- I knew my mother was right. I would call New York home one day.

And I did! For five glorious (and not so glorious) years, New York City was my playground. I was nineteen when I packed my bags and arrived, and life definitely tested me, to say the least (dollar a day diet, anyone?). I grew, I learned, I worked hard, I fell in love for the first time, I discovered the incredible strength of the human spirit, I learned that I will always find a way, and I discovered parts of myself I never would have had I lived anywhere else. And, to top it off, my wonderful Father followed suit and moved there, too! But after a few years, I noticed something changing. Something was different. Something within New York just wasn't the same anymore. I saw cute mom & pop shops closing up and being replaced with McDonald's' or T-Mobiles; I saw swarms of people walking around with frowns on their faces, unperturbed by being shoved or jostled aside; I heard foul and disrespectful language from New Yorker to New Yorker. And while those things have always been a part of the city to a certain extent, the important thing I realized was that the charm and beauty of the Old New York (the New York that I love best-- the era of the Sinatra's or the Monroe's or the fictional Gatsby's) was gone forever. I suppose, now, that the major disillusionment came when my Papa passed away. That was a very dark time for me. His funeral was held in Greenwich Village, and certain streets and blocks hold so many memories that they are painful to walk through-- and I've been avoiding them ever since. The City now just seems dark, gray, ever-morbid, with a past that seems brighter than its future. I always associated New York with Charm, Class, Strength, and my Father, and once he was gone, New York was, too.

I didn't ever want to go back. But now, I realize that although I don't live in New York anymore, a huge, intrinsic part of me still does. I spent some of my most formative years there, learning, growing, and testing my resilience and tenacity. "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere", right? (cue Frank Sinatra's Theme from New York, New York). Such a big part of my life still rests there, on those concrete avenues filled with dreams and hopes, in the subway trains zooming past, in the artists and writers and go-getters, in the little flower still finding the sunlight reaching through the cracks of the curb, in the quaint bookshops and 24 hour diners. New York is full of life and progress-- always going forward forward forward. And although I've had to come to terms with many losses I've felt there, I must always remember one thing; My Father, a dreamer, a mathematician, a scientist who saw beauty and love so vividly-- is still there. His ashes are now a part of the beating pulse of New York, and as his blood flows through my veins, so then is my heart ever bound to its constant pull.

So, this time, I am looking afresh at New York. It will always be a part of me. Not because of its lavish temptations and expanse of experience, the excitement it offers and the opportunities it parades, but because a literal part of me, the flesh and blood of my being, still rests there, enticing me, comforting me, telling me, "I am always here."