My love affair with New York

By Victoria Cho

It buzzes on the lips of financial types barging ahead, beyond, to their next sale; it shines in features and exposes, investigative pieces and commentaries, from the fathers of journalism; it vibrates through my windows from bass-heavy speakers in broken-looking cars; it leaks into my pants as steam through subway vents; it is caught on the lens in blacks, whites, blues, oranges, and more; it is sung, cursed, applauded, gossiped, lamented, loved, lost, left.

Once upon a time, I loved New York.  We had a rich affair of uncanny adventures and astounding sex.  My eyes were bombarded by its lines and curves; I walked around and absorbed the fabrics, the storefronts, the curses, the subway doors, the animals, and the clamor of the city.  New York and I dined together, sometimes at restaurants, sometimes in my room and it’d show me the beauty of the Mexican products I bought nearby, reveal posted photos from the day’s events, snuggle me up with an issue of the city’s and the world’s most influential newspaper, let me hear giggles or maybe gunshots from the local kids, and then watch me sleep as I decided the what when where for the next time and then couldn’t decide, and then fall asleep knowing I couldn’t decide or that I didn’t know, but felt more ready than ever to never be ready.

And we’d go to bars, and New York would win me over.  Classic or grungy, young or old, whatever I desired, New York gave me.  It spoiled me, it listened to me, and In indulged.

Once upon a time, I left New York.  And I saw something I never thought I’d see; it wasn’t the center, it wasn’t home, and it was as distant from me as anywhere else.  Disdain germinated within me, and I questioned my new feelings of loathing, and I don’t think loathing comes from an object or place but from inside me, and I think it covers something else, something deeper, and how do I remove the cover?

Inside was the embarrassment of my severe depression in New York.  I hid my false love for it, my jealousy of others who embraced the city, succeeded within it, would settle in it, would call it home for eternity.  They would make large happy families that would also call New York home, and so on, and so on, and here I was elsewhere, not missing New York and not knowing what I missed.

Once upon a time I was looking for a home.  I had tried Virginia, Boston, New York, and Thailand.  Once upon a time, I knew it existed.  Once upon a time, I realized it wasn’t where I was but who I am.