My mother was born on Long Island and came to work in New York City in her mid-20's. She had a career as a hair and makeup stylist at a salon in Soho. An Italian restaurant sat across the street from the salon, and each day she would notice this fresh looking Italian man step outside on his cigarette breaks. This is how my mother met my father. My father immigrated to the United States in search of job opportunities and to fulfill his aspirations of managing restaurants in New York City. I consider it to be fate that placed my parents, within a city of seven million people, right in front of each other.
Hence, I find myself attached to looking at my city through the lens of a son of an immigrant father and of a hopeless romantic. I always notice the little, seemingly negligible aspects to New York – sudden sights, smells, noises – and fall back in love with the city.
Born and raised in the city, and now being 20 years old, I feel as if each block and each corner has a specific memory that sits in my mind. The bodegas near my middle school where my friends and I rushed to get our four dollar lunches (including a sandwich and various sugar items). The long walks on Houston Street towards the Hudson River Park during my seasonal employment as a horticulturist. Sitting, having lunch with my high school friends in Madison Square Park, with the Empire State Building watching over us. The slow strolls in Domino Park that I never wanted to end. The smell of Yankee Stadium and the way that Frank Sinatra cues everyone that it's time to head home. The nights at Washington Square Park and the Village where the main goal of me and my friends night was to just "see what was up".
Like the street where my parents met, there are places in the city that tell stories spanning over time, regardless of the physical change that happens around them. Now being at the point in time where my mom has had her share of the city and is looking to finally move out with my father, I find myself still eager to have my own microscopic apartment and have the experience of a young academic studying the city where he was born. To really experience New York City, you need time, attention, and patience. NYC is not a city to be rushed or to be gleaned over. It is a city where inhabitant experiences widely vary, whether being because of income, race, neighborhood, etc.
More than two decades after my mother noticed my father across the street in Soho, they still tell me the story of how they met every time we pass the storefront of what used to be my mother's salon. We share an appreciation for walking in the city; either out of necessity or out of pure desire to clear our minds and truly ponder. It was from my mother that I developed an appreciation for taking long walks, at times without the music blasting in my ears, to find a sense of belonging in such a dizzying city. From these walks, I believe is where I first felt my passion spark for urban planning. My mom grabbing my arm and rushing through the busiest subway stations to catch a train that felt packed with every single city inhabitant.
Noticing the patterns in how people utilized space, where they walked, how they reacted, and how architecture changes throughout different areas of the city. I would also confidently say that being born and raised in Harlem has also added to my aspirations, not just to study urban environments, but to advocate and create policy for more equitable and sustainable cities.
Comments