Changes I Owe To The City
Photograph by Daniela Bologna
sometimes i think about the person New York has made me into these last two years. what changes do i owe to the city and what changes do i owe to myself?
i no longer keep my read receipts on. i still don’t drink coffee. i no longer have two freckles on my bottom lip, i have three. where did the third one come from? i could stand up for myself. and then i couldn’t. and then i could again. i know who Joan Didion is. i like flowers in my kitchen. my hair is short. i still do my work the night before. i now know to not believe in the idea of a person more than the actual person themselves. i like rooftops. i like being with people. i like being alone. i know that no audience is better than an opening night screening at the regal union. i’m bad at folding clothes. i always listen to music when walking so no one talks to me. i like cooking rice but not pasta. i can’t build Ikea furniture. i love friends i can learn from. i still find it hard to reach out when i need to, but i know i will get there in my own time. i like going to bookshops by myself and not with other people. vulnerability is a superpower. so is empathy. so is respect. i don’t know how to walk in heels, and i don’t need to. time with my sister is precious. the streets are a movie set. i always check my pockets before i walk out my door. i try not to resent good moments just because they ended before i wanted them to. i wish i drunk more water. i sometimes fall asleep with the light on. that one stoop on 9th street catches the setting sun’s rays like no other place in the city. i still don’t know how to write about artwork. horses scare me. i read fiction too fast; non-fiction too slow. i don’t wear bracelets. half my socks have lost their pair. it's hard making plans, i like it more when they just happen to me. i love pumpkin pie. there are people i can’t understand, and it’s not my job to. i don’t look at the moon as much as i should. it’s okay to be late once. or twice. maybe not three times but it won’t be the end of the world if i am. i jaywalk now. i save articles i’ll never read. i don’t like it when pigeons fly above me. saying the first hello is just as hard as ever, but i know to still do it anyway. i can listen to the same song on loop for a whole day. i love to walk. i can still barely use excel. for a short time, i could finally remember my dreams after waking up.
to what extent is who i am just an effect? an effect of a cause that never sleeps, a cause of mustard cabs and gleaming buildings and frayed umbrellas discarded on the ground the morning after a storm?