△Three things that stood out to me
There weren’t three things that stood out to me. Everything did. New York is like design. It breathes with contrast. From the tiny streets of Bushwick to the immensity of Manhattan, the lightness of a little girl slurping her melting gelato in Williamsburg to the homeless begging to survive, the warmth of people squeezing on the L train to the freezing seriousness of people in suits, the Empire State and its tall friends to the wildest Atlantic ocean, the highly sophisticated Pentagram designs to the shittiest wanted cat poster, the $0 incredible sunsets on rooftops to the ridiculously expensive room without light in which you live, the smile of a stranger to the tears of a tired toddler, etc. The beauty of this city has no end. It’s raw. It’s wild. It’s dirty. It’s chic. It’s big. It’s bold. It’s alive. It sucks all your energy but gives you back even more energy for the next day. It’s screaming freedom and diversity. It’s liberating. It’s like a bath with ice. It may not be comfortable, but it’s freaking sensational.
☐ 1 thing that made sense to me
A sharp mirror
New York shows you who you truly are because you are constantly out of your comfort zone. Wherever you are. Work, subway, home, park, beach, restaurant, library, supermarket, bus, museum, deli, rooftop, bar… even in the fucking restroom. You sweat. You fight. You go the extra mile. You survive. You grow. You live. And when you win a jackpot, you know you’ve deserve it. Because nothing comes on silver plate.
○ 1 Question
When will I be back?
When I arrived to the airport, I cried at the check-in. This old man who picked up my luggage said: you will pay a $100 if you don’t remove something from your bag. Fucking New York asking for my money until the last second. It didn’t even let me cry in peace. I guess the city knows my tears were useless since it will see my face again sooner than I think. No wonder why I saw this bus displaying smile, rather than a destination, on my last day of work. I removed Paula Scher’s last book and carried it proudly in my arms. It’s true. You don’t deserve to be with my socks.