The sky delivered a cold, wet Christmas instead of a white one as most people wished. Rain soaked up Brooklyn as I walked out of the door.

This is my third time coming into this city. Everything should be more familiar. I memorized more of the subway system. More restaurants, boutiques, and street names ring a bell in my mind. Yet still, this city seems a completely stranger to me.

First time I came here, I was still wearing shorts and tank-tops. Chairs and benches at Bryant park were loaded with people taking their lunch breaks, and the grass with kids and girls sitting on their yoga mats.

The second time I came here, I told my friend that I could not stand the density of the crowd on Fifth Avenue. It was Columbus Day; the main road was cleared for Italian parade trucks. The crowd flowed sluggishly—but it was moving.

Now, with Christmas’s presence alongside a long and harsh winter, Manhattan made itself a vast change. I put on jacket and boots, but the wind still penetrates my body. Trees are bald, but Christmas decorations fill in the blanks—occupying each street and household are mistletoe and holly rings, Santa and Gnomes, everything red, green and silver with glitter or fairy lights. The spaciousness of Bryant park is replaced by designer shops of the winter market. Fifth Avenue crowd, from time to time, stops moving at all.

I got off the train at Witney Museum. Artsy spots like this one care way less about mundane festivals—Rarely do Christmas-themed decorations pop up in sight. Its winter exhibitions are still set up silently against plain white walls, lighting is still artistically placed for items on display. Pacing among students and artists, I felt for one moment that I stepped out of the society and entered a dimension beyond.

Then I went out of the door and cold breeze brought me back to reality. I was holding a Witney museum flyer in the train when a stranger offered me a seat.

“You just went to Witney, didn’t you?” he said. Starting conversations with strangers is one of the rare exceptions, yet somehow also common occurrences in Manhattan. People in big cities have learned to mind only their own businesses, keeping their heads down while walking on the streets. Sometimes people break this rule for intriguing encounters.

I told him my favorite floors in the museum and he made his comments. Then, before he got off the subway, he tapped his hat and wished me merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

I decided to walk up to Metropolitan Museum along Fifth Avenue, first stopping by Bryant park and the public library. There I received another blessing from a stranger.

“Where’re you from?” A voice appeared somewhere in behind. It took me a second to realize that this question was posed to me.

I hesitated. “I’m from a lot of places” was the only answer I could think of. For now, I am from a small village in southern Massachusetts, but I am originally from afar.

This stranger talked about poetry, environment, and camping in the wild. He bounced around like a child when he started talking about stuff he’s passionate about.

“Merry Christmas, young lady,” he said while promising me that he would send me his poetry.

I stopped by a chocolate shop I fell in love with last time I came to New York. A small apartment near the Empire State Building owned by an old man and his Greek wife, where the delicious scent of handmade chocolates permeates every corner. The apartment was cluttered with kitchen appliances and cocoa beans, but at the small counter, chocolate pieces are exquisitely placed in gift boxes and a glass cabinet.

It was Christmas Eve--he's closing soon. The last tray of his work had just come out of the kitchen. "Wanna try one?" he winked. Each piece of these chocolates costs about 3 dollars, but he did not care. He enjoyed my compliments on the splendid flavors of his creations more than the money I put into his pocket. "Merry Christmas," he said, as he boxed some of his best works for me as a gift. Then he closed his shop. I saw him smiling at his wife as I walked out of the door. It was time for them to enjoy the festival in that

I walked up along the Fifth Avenue. Scattered words bounce into my ears: "Merry Christmas," "and a happy New Year". The crowd is incredibly dense, but it keeps the cold away.