New York Pity

New York City was not all it cracked up to be. 

I arrived to my home for the next two weeks earlier than expected. There was no joyous gentleman waiting for me on my front door singing Frank Sinatra with a rehearsed dance routine. Instead, I had the pleasure to hear eruptive babies crying every eight feet. Not too mention the friendly strangers who “accidentally” bumped into me on the Subway. Plus, there was no such thing as no line. I had to wait for every little thing. Grocery store? 20 minutes. Library? 12 minutes. The morgue? I don’t want to know. Nothing was that great about New York. Sure, some things were unique. I can’t remember the last time I saw a man balancing a cat on his head in comfy suburbia. However, a life of discomfort and dirty handrails did not seem to be worth it. 

Until I woke up.

I  came home before I knew it. My first morning back went a little something like this: I woke up softly from the internal alarm clock that will not let me rest past 9:30 am. My body drew itself downstairs toward the smell of waffles and roasted coffee. I laid on the couch, munching on the beautiful breakfast my mother had made and watching the most intellectual television show of our generation, Spongebob Spuarepants. After a few episodes, I waltzed back upstairs, changed my clothes, and started my day.

That was one of the worst days of my life. 

Instead of the construction just out of my window at 7:00 am, I woke up on my own. Instead of sewage and dust, I smelled breakfast. Instead of trying to figure out the safest route to class, I was watching Spongebob. My life of simple encounters seemed different than before I left. Now I knew what it meant to live a different kind of life. It did not make any sense to my family that I was missing what we all aim to avoid: Complications. However, it made perfect sense to me.

A life of simplicity does not mean a life of happiness. When I received the relief I thought I needed, it turned out to be more of an awakening. The screeching voice of the big city turned out to be music to my ears. Sure, New York City stinks. It literally stinks. However it is somewhere where life happens, not just somewhere you live. Unfortunately I came to this conclusion after I came home. But now I know home may not mean what it used to. 

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