How the transplant digested NYC

Spending most of my early adolescence in Seoul, one of the safest megacities in the world, I grew up believing that safety was a default setting of urban life. However, when my family moved to New York City, that assumption was quickly challenged. NYC was framed to me not only as a place of opportunity or culture, but as a city where I needed to survive. From the moment we arrived, our family friends warned me to be cautious at night, not to wander too far, avoid certain neighborhoods, and stay alert. From the start, this city was presented to me as a dangerous place before it was ever allowed to be interesting.

In New York, we lived in a quiet, almost suburban part of Queens, but my parents’ fear extended far beyond our block. Due to both my parents’ worries and the lack of access,  I wasn’t allowed to take the subway alone until I was in high school. Before those years, I was put under a strict curfew unless I was accompanied by someone my parents knew. As I got older, the rules eventually softened, but the anxiety never fully disappeared. My parents’ worries just changed form, turning into constant reminders to text when I’ve arrived or to avoid unfamiliar routes. New York, to me, became a city divided into safe zones and no-go zones.

Those fears intensified during COVID-19. News stories about anti-Asian hate crimes flooded our screens with people being assaulted, shoved onto subway tracks, and targeted simply for existing. The city that constantly marketed itself as “a cultural melting pot” suddenly felt hostile and unpredictable. At the same time, I found out I have been accepted to high school in the Bronx and will be commuting there starting in September. That single fact alone triggered a new wave of concern in my household. During my first year, coupled with concerns about the continued anti-Asian hate crimes, I was barred from taking the subway to and from school unless absolutely necessary and was forced to rely on a private bus service instead. The message given to me was clear. Without realizing it, I internalized those warnings, and entire boroughs became stereotypes in my head. These weren’t conclusions I arrived at through experience, but ones I absorbed through fear passed down to me. That mindset stayed with me until something surprisingly ordinary broke it: food.

It started during lunch at my high school. Unlike many public schools in New York, we were allowed to leave campus during any lunch and free periods. Tired of cafeteria food that barely qualified as a meal, my friends and I began venturing out to grab lunch nearby. At first, I was a bit hesitant. My friends and I were stepping into the very streets I had been taught to avoid. But meal after meal, that fear began to crack. I saw kids like myself, students, workers, families, all just living their lives, grabbing food, complaining about prices, and laughing with friends. The Bronx stopped being a threat and became another borough safe zone where I spent the majority of my day.

This mix-over-rice combo was what I'd get the most often with my friends for lunch for $6!

As COVID restrictions faded and my parents loosened their grip, our food crawls expanded across the city. Jackson Heights, once something I had dismissed as “slum-ish”, became one of my favorite places. Bangladeshi and Indian street food filled sidewalks with color, smoke, and the amazing smell of cooking that dragged me in. Jamaica, Queens, introduced me to rich Caribbean flavors and immigrant-owned restaurants that felt deeply rooted in the community. In Brooklyn, we hunted down pizza spots with some gentrified, but some unchanged for decades, each slice giving me a different taste of the neighborhood it came from. Even in the Bronx, I found a surprisingly large Vietnamese community serving pho that rivaled anything I’d had elsewhere.

This is Phuchka, and it was part of my many food crawls in Jackson Heights

Food became my entry point into the city. It dissolved boundaries faster than any subway ride ever could. Neighborhoods I once was hesitant to pass through became places I looked forward to visiting. Today, I see New York City not as the threatening place I was warned about, nor as the sanitized, glamorous version shown to tourists. Through the food crawls, I learned that NYC isn’t divided into “good” and “bad” neighborhoods but rather that it’s divided into stories, cultures, and communities that only reveal themselves when you’re willing to step in and taste them.

Honorary mention to one of my favorite spots in Manhattan to close out