Almost every day of my life, I have used the subway to commute across New York City. If I need to get anywhere, the subway is my ticket. Although the city contains near-infinite multitudes, from the famous attractions to the minute interactions that make up the fabric of the city’s street life, for me nothing says New York quite like the subway.
My first experiences with the subway date back to when I was three years old, sitting next to my twin sister on our way to preschool. Each morning, we would sit on our knees looking out the E train window on our way from Lex-53rd to mid-gentrification Chelsea at 23rd Street. En route to the train, we would go down the massive six-story staircase, drawing dirty looks towards our mom from rushed commuters too impatient to find the three-year-olds slowly stumbling down the stairs cute.
In grade school, I shifted towards the Upper East Side, taking the 6 from the bustling business district and transfer point of midtown Manhattan to the exclusive enclave of Carnegie Hill. This commute, which I took for nine years, managed to pack New York’s many layers into one despite only taking me four stops from one exclusive neighborhood to another, thanks to the transfer passage at 53rd. Tens of thousands use it each day to switch from Manhattan’s Lexington Avenue Line to the E express along Queens Boulevard. It displayed every color of the New York rainbow through its snapshot of Queens’ citizenry, from the Mexican churro seller to the Jamaican steelpan player to the Filipino toy seller to the white shoeshine. Among the commuters, every language, race, fashion, and background was represented, all through the common goal of getting to or from work, fast. Although in many respects I was still an insulated Manhattan kid, this commute gave me my first real taste of New York’s astounding diversity.
Finally, during high school, although I returned to the E train for my commute (this time to the high-rises of FiDi and TriBeCa), the subway additionally became the conduit through which I gained independence from the watchful eyes of my mom or a babysitter. I could go to my friends’ houses from Bayside to Bay Ridge all for $2.75. This was when I truly got to know the city—working with the late-night subway patterns to get home at 1 AM, being the only white person in the subway car in the middle of the Bronx or Queens, and getting a slice of life from every area that I passed through. Even though I have yet to explore many of New York’s nooks and crannies, I have experienced the entire city through the subway system. So, whenever I meet someone who hails from New York, I ask: “What subway station?” And whether they answer Corona Plaza, Coney Island, or any of the six 86th Street stations, I immediately know where they are from. The subway is my language of New York.
Me and my longtime high school commuting buddy, Reilly, in Autumn 2019 on the E train
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