Dear New York City,
Hey, it’s been awhile since we last spoke. I know you’ve sensed my distance and I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch better. But I think it’s time we finally had “the talk.”
I remember the first time I fell in love with you. We had been seeing each other for almost 15 years. It was the eve of a huge storm and I was struggling to get my metro card to work at the 2/3 subway station at Times Square. A hell hole. Times Square was bleak, dreary, and its emptiness was almost creepy. My umbrella was doing that thing where it turns inside out and flings rain back into your face, my raincoat wasn’t behaving like a raincoat, my orange Rumor flip-phone wasn’t working (this was a pre-iPhone era), and my metro card that I had just put 10 dollars on was saying “insufficient fare.” I was alone, wet, cold, pissed off, and I hated you. It’s probably one of the few times I’ve cursed at you in public; my repeated jamming’s of my metro card through the turnstile coupled with my whispered “fuck yous” were really alarming the night-workers. I had given up all hope and resigned my fate, when the night-worker behind the glass box came out and said, “Hop it. I won’t tell anyone.”
The woman behind the glass box seemed so sad, so lonely. I thanked her over 100 times and slid under the turnstile. I asked her when she would get to go home and she chuckled to herself, “Hah. Hopefully never.” I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Maybe she was being sarcastic, or maybe she genuinely preferred working at the 2/3 Times Square train station than going home. For one of the most populated places on earth, it can also be one of the loneliest. However, no matter how alone you might feel in NYC, there’s always at least one person to be lonely with. NYC, you gave me hope on that stormy night and I fell in love with you because of it.
I can tell you all the other ways in which I love you.
-I love you because I can order Indian food at 3 a.m.
-I love you because in the winter, nothing is more beautiful than the snow-capped tops of yellow taxi cabs.
-I love you because you are simultaneously the biggest city and the smallest place in the world.
-I love you because of the Nuts-4-Nuts smell on Broadway.
-I love you because of the Brooklyn Bridge, the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, the Cloisters, Prospect Park, Central Park, and the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Center.
-I love you because of the Russian-Jewish bakeries on Coney Island Avenue.
-I love you because of bodega cats.
-I love you because of your tap water.
-And I love you because my local bagel shop is run by Syrians, the organic grocer is run by Pakistani, my favorite deli is run by Italians, the pub next door is run by the Irish, and the dollar store at the end of my street has a new ethnicity running it each week.
I remember the first time I gave up on you, the first time I realized I was perhaps too jaded for an already jaded city. I was on the R train, pissed off at you because your train had taken over half an hour to arrive and was moving slower than a fucking inchworm. We’d been seeing each other for over 20 years; I was a die hard New Yorker, proud of all your flaws: the homeless, the sweaty summers, the blistering winters, the creepy alleys, the cat-calling construction workers, the raised subway fare. I appreciated all of it (maybe not the raises in subway fare), but I was about to leave you for 4 months and go to Italy. I was terrified and strongly considering not going. The R train was creeping slowly along the Brooklyn Bridge and it was a beautiful night out, but the inside of the train was hot and smelled like 4-day old piss. A homeless man hobbled into my subway car and did his usual impassioned speech for money and a job. One person offered up a handful of spare change. He hobbled into the next subway car. Everyone looked so much more tired after he left, like they had just aged 20 years. Disgruntled, tired, and over it. A voice mumbled over the loud speaker, “ghurirejgnkapolgies butwe’re grustoppingdue to traingsjghtraffic.” Great, stuck on the Brooklyn Bridge, on a fucking R train that smells like pee, surrounded by people coughing, sneezing, and glaring at each other. I realized I hated you, I hated what you had done to these people, what you had done to me. I was no longer afraid to leave you for four months; I had to get out.
I remember the first time I regained faith in you, and thought we could work it out. I had just come back from Italy and it was my first time seeing you in four months. My plane was 10 minutes away from landing at JFK and I remember peeling open the blinds on my airplane window and seeing the sparkling lights and glowing ant-like cars below. It was pure magic. When my plane finally hit the runway, I felt such a pang of happiness in me. A few days later, I was sitting in Union Square doing a wordsearch, waiting for a friend, when a large woman sitting next to me reached over and pointed out five words. She grabbed my pen and said, “Damn, I’ve been waiting for you to circle these words for fucking ever!” I thought we could work it out. Do you know how many times I raved about you while I was abroad? How proud I was to be from you? Everyone was so jealous of our relationship.
I still think we can work it out. I still get that pang of happiness when I see your bright lights and busy streets. I still think the New York skyline, while a little overrated, is one of the most beautiful ones in the world. I would die before rooting for any other team besides the Yankees or Giants, and I think you make the best pizza and bagels in the goddamn world. But I think we need a break. I’ve walked past and ignored too many homeless people. I’ve cursed at too many late trains. I’ve brushed past too many slow walkers. I’ve spent too much time and energy trying to fix you and your wily ways. You will never change, but I sure can.
I consider us to be in an epic love poem, NYC. We've spent almost 21 years together in a love-hate relationship. I've cheated on you with the suburbs of Saratoga and the metropolis of Milan. But like all good love stories, ours is not simple and easy.
You’re perfect in every way, just not for me.
Maybe this is not the right time for us.
We’re just at different points in our lives.
Maybe we’re not compatible.
It’s too complicated.
I need space.
You’re not Mr. Right, just Mr. Right Now.
You just don’t get me like you used to.
I need to find myself and I just can’t do that with you.
My cat doesn’t like you.
It’s not you, it’s me.
