I was born in Manhattan and then moved out to Brooklyn once I started kindergarten. Starting from middle school, I started taking the subway by myself to school. This wasn’t as a big deal to me since my middle school was only three or four subway stops away and getting to my high school took an hour commute. These commutes feel so much better than sitting in a Greyhound for five hours or riding the TCAT. On my commutes to high school, I was able to read or listen to music (depending on my mood), catch up on sleep, or even do some homework on the subway. Both the TCAT and the Greyhound make me nauseous so all I can do is chew some gum, and snap on my headphones.

Being back home for “Spring Break” helps me gain a sense of self again. Most of my spring break consisted of TV/movies and sleeping, but centering myself here has helped so much. That smell I breathe in when I get out of Port Authority is something I always miss. It’s so unhealthy, compared to the fresh air in Ithaca, but that mix of gas fumes, street food and the sound of traffic and people rushing past makes me feel like I am home. One of my first City-like “experiences” being back home has consisted of struggling to listen to my best friend vent about a crazy drunk man singing at his loudest volume. The crazy drunk man had gained his competitor as another man started singing against him, as I was almost pressing my ear against my friend’s face.

I feel like when people think of New York City, they immediately think of Times Square and its crowd, Broadway, the amazing skyline, and how much it dedicates its setting during the holiday season. But when I think of New York, I think about the little moments. Trying to discern the real police sirens driving past from the police sirens on “The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story” or whatever I’m watching on TV. Laughing during Subway rush hour because I am at normal people’s armpit height as I try to fight for a seat or a place standing in the middle of the car. Glimpsing Lady Liberty on my subway ride home on the F line. Finding it easy to get back into my guarded street personality, as my speed-walk becomes normal, or becoming quietly aggressive as I weave past human traffic. Or even finding an adventure at a swipe of a ridiculously expensive Subway ride.

Now, as I get closer to my college graduation, I think about where I am possibly going to live from now on, where I will eventually settle down. I can’t even drive, and, therefore, don’t need my own car, that my modes of transportation are dependent on the public. I am in need of a subway, in need of the busy, bustling city. I think about where I want to raise my family, and I do want them to grow up within a diverse population, and where the unfairness of the world is immediate, rather than as an afterthought. I had studied abroad in London, and although I felt that Europe was a lot more liberal than New York, but the city feel of London felt like home, but my heart still belonged in a different city. I would always feel like a stranger in anywhere but New York. I grew up pretty liberally, and having sheltered myself in the idea that this strange, intersection of a city runs the world has given me an overwhelming amount of trust that this place is the best and only city.