The famous skyline, Times Square's neon lights, the city's unrelenting vitality, and the countless food and cultural options are all images that come to mind when people think of New York City. But for me, it’s more than just these things—it’s home.
I've been living here my entire life, and while I may be biased, I actually believe it is the greatest city in the world. I am from the Bronx but have lived in Manhattan for so long now that it's like a portion of my neighborhood. No matter where I end up, I've never been uncomfortable in my own skin. Growing up in a city as diverse as New York, I've been able to be myself without the fear of being condemned. There are all kinds of people from different cultures and backgrounds who live here together, and out of this is born a culture where it's the order of the day to honor one another's individuality. In a place like this, I learned that it is not only okay to be yourself but something to be proud of.
Even though New York is a city of celebration and excitement, it is not without criticism either. The city is frequently described by outsiders as "dirty," "ghetto," or "dangerous." Many of the talks I've had with people who don't know the city beyond its surface are dominated by pictures of graffiti splattered on every wall, air pollution, and the constant fear of violence. Although it's simple to understand how these prejudices spread, they don't provide a whole picture. If you look closely, you'll see that there's a lot more underneath that surface.
The subway is, in my opinion, one of the most iconic aspects of New York life. Although nobody particularly enjoys riding the train, there is occasionally something strangely soothing about it. Like the skyscrapers that line the skyline, the subway is ingrained in the very core of the city. Some people consider it a daily inconvenience because it is overcrowded, slow, and uncomfortable. For others, however, it provides a moment's respite from the rush, an opportunity to relax, or simply to take in the city's peace.
I still remember that morning, the last time my mother drove me to school. I had to figure out how to get home. It began well enough—I got on the right train going uptown toward The Bronx, but somewhere along the way, the train stopped at a station, and I couldn't quite make out what the intercom was saying. My stop was approaching, so I got up, ready to get off.
But then the train started moving again—express—skipping my stop entirely. I panicked and called my mom. She calmly told me to take the next train going downtown, which I did. When I finally got off, though, I didn’t recognize where I was. I strolled around, trying to locate something that I knew, but everything seemed unfamiliar. I was lost. At that time, I didn't wish to admit it to my mom, but it wasn't possible. I informed her where I was, and upon verifying my position, she understood that I had walked two stops beyond my initial stop. I did manage to find my way home afterward, but the encounter was permanent. It was the start of my love affair with the subway—a love affair with moments of perplexity, discovery, and even a little annoyance. To this day, I continue to get lost on the train from time to time, six years later.
But I would not trade it for anything. It's one of the things that makes life here real—gaining your orientation in a city that's always changing, sometimes not having a clue where you are, but never forgetting that being lost is another way of learning to find your way around. It's something that ties me to the city more than anything else. Because New York, as much as the subway, is about the ride. The turns and twists. The surprise turns. The small moments that, when you think about them, provide you with a sense of just how much it's altered you.
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