The Big Apple
It took 19 hours of flying, 24 hours of travel time, and 22 hours without sleep to arrive in New York City.
I was last here 10 years ago, celebrating my 13th birthday. It was a pretty memorable birthday, to say the least.
Stepping out onto the streets this time felt otherworldly. Lifetimes had passed since then, and I could almost feel the city whispering,
"I see you made it back, kid—good luck!"
Dorothy Parker once said that London is satisfied, Paris is resigned, but New York is always hopeful. It’s like it always believes that something good is about to come off, and it must hurry to meet it.
Bryant Park, Afternoon.
I waited until their last game was over to approach. The man with the hat had a rolled newspaper sticking out of his back pocket and would laugh whenever the other man made finger guns at him with each pawn he’d steal.
I said, “Excuse me, gentlemen, would you mind if I took your photograph?”
They laughed.
"Of us? Why, this makin’ us feel like real movie stars over here! ... Listen up, everybody, we gon’ be serious, front-page professionals, right? Alright, young lady, make it good!"
Lower west side.
This man told me he’s the world-famous pigeon man. 🐦
I gave him enough money to go buy lunch and water after talking to him about himself, his life, and these friends of his.
He said, “This one right here keeps wantin’ to cuddle in my jacket—he thinks I’m momma bird. But I can’t be playin’ favorites, so I gotta kiss ’em all, you see.”
I know this man has had a hard turn at life, but he finds some peace and happiness here, and it’s all he wanted to talk about.
I know this man has had a hard turn at life, but he finds some peace and happiness here, and it’s all he wanted to talk about.
It goes a long way to offer a meal, a helping hand, or even just exchange some words with people on the street we may have been conditioned to ignore.
There are, of course, exceptions, but I know there are many homeless people out there who are just like you and me.
Intelligent. Funny. Compassionate. Educated. Insightful. Human.
But because they’re sitting at a corner—so vulnerable, in a position we can’t imagine—we look the other way.
We do this not only when we don’t care, but when we do and it actually hurts too much.
But that’s when it’s most important to acknowledge.
Not looking, not allowing yourself to feel, doesn’t make it any less real.
He said he sees a lot of people trying to kick pigeons away, like they’re gross—but really, pigeons are like any other bird.
Like every other animal on this planet, they have more right to be here than we do.
I know they surely don’t cause as much destruction.
And I’d rather share some bread with pigeons in a park than have lunch with someone who’s rude to the waiter.
We can learn a lot from people who live with so little yet have so much love to give.
And giving love to the voiceless is one of the most rewarding things in a world that can be so cruel.
New World Trade Site and 9/11 Memorial
"I'm literally living out every graffiti artist's dream," said Dylan Bauvez. "I'm up there painting what I hold closest to myself in the heart of New York City, where New York's heart was broken."
The World Trade Center is undergoing a transformation—by way of street art.
Bauvez calls his mural on the site Wild Things and dedicates it to his sister and mother, who are fighting cancer.
He says, “Decades ago, businesses would never want someone spray painting their construction sites, right? That would be vandalism. But all these bright colours suggest new life and hope. You want to do something that honors the area, that brings hope, that brings life to a place that has gone through such tragedy. It’s a rebirth. To have all these murals, to me they're just these metaphors of wildflowers, just kind of growing through the rubble”
The sound of these nonstop, cascading fountains at the Reflecting Absence memorial was mesmerizing.
This is the south pool (the north pool sits just on the other side of the memorial museum), where the names of the victims from the World Trade Center South, the first responders, Flight 175, the Pentagon, Flight 77, and Flight 93 are engraved.
Stems of white and red roses stuck out from some names. Handwritten notes were tucked into others.
This entire square—and the way it has been designed, incorporating elements of nature with the dense green trees, roaring water, and the reflection of the sky in the pools—makes you feel eerily calm.
It drowns out all the traffic and sirens surrounding it.
Inside The Oculus, seen in the background of the previous post.
The impressive glass-and-steel structure was designed by Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, taking inspiration from a dove in flight.
Although many point out the resemblance of the exterior to an eye itself (Oculus meaning eye in Latin), it feels pretty futuristic in here—a sleek transportation hub built underground, with long, bright tunnels connecting to the World Trade Center and elevators all the way up to the observation deck to look out over the city.
I type this ending here now, with the hum of New York vibrating in my bones.
Back then in 08, I saw it as a place larger than life, a dreamscape of yellow cabs, towering skyscrapers, and lights that never dim.
And now?
It’s just the same, baby.
Now I know it’s exactly that.
New York really is like the movies. It’s always exactly the way you remembered it—and better.
There’s a pulse to this city, a rhythm that’s both chaotic and comforting.
The hustle and bustle that might overwhelm some didn’t shake me.
It wrapped me in its arms.
I loved realizing this because I love nature and the quiet so much—but I found comfort in the busyness of it all.
It was as if the sheer life of the city made space for me to exist exactly as I was, as I am, with no need to explain myself.
I spent days reading in diners, the clatter of plates and distant chatter creating the perfect background music.
I got lost in Brooklyn.
Wandered without a map.
Got my first tattoo.
And discovered pieces of myself in each corner of the city.
I lived a hundred different lives in my head, watching strangers hurry past, imagining who they were and what stories they carried.
E.B. White once wrote:
"New York is to the nation what the white church spire is to the village—the visible symbol of aspiration and faith, the white plume saying that the way is up."
New York doesn’t just aspire; it is aspiration.
It’s a city that actually never sleeps, but somehow, it lets you dream even while you’re wide awake.
This post isn’t as long as some of my others because, honestly, I was just taking it all in.
The sights.
The stories.
The strange and familiar ways this city made me feel alive.
My advice?
Go to New York.
Come to New York.
Just go.
You’ll find a part of yourself waiting there.
Maybe even parts you don’t like—fiery, stubborn, impatient, confused, overstimulated.
It gives you a bit of an edge.
And it’s an edge that’s allowed.
And that feels good.