The canvas of this city has been painted over and over and over again.
New buildings rise, people come and go, the city scene is a play, never the same, always in motion.
The city of light, the city of dreams, the city that never sleeps.
Welcome to New York!
“In a New York Minute, everything can change,” Don Henley sings melancholically as if trying to deny the very truth of the statement. A New York Minute, a fleeting time, has passed before your eyes much in advance of your comprehension. A New York Minute will only truly be present in your recollection when you are no longer present in New York. However, the mere term, A New York Minute, so appropriately called, is probably only fully appreciated when one has set foot in New York.
Yellow cabs fly past, street vendors yell or yawn, sirens accompany the honks and hustle of the streets. Scaffolding crawls up walls like ivy, spreading its metal branches far and wide. Golden leaves fall from the sky, softly landing on the pavement until it is yet again in the air, kicked up by a passerby.
Stilettos and briefcases, cameras and backpacks, dog leashes and scarves. New York is clad in autumn, but already adorned with Christmas lights and carols, and visitors mingle with locals in this vibrant city. Wherever we go, the lives of New Yorkers blend in harmoniously with the lives of those here searching for an answer to the enigma of the Big Apple.
Why is the greatness here incomparable to other metropolises?
How come you immediately understand that aspirations and ambitions are grander here than anywhere else, are allowed to be so?
One thing I felt walking under towering buildings was not intimidation, not smallness, but a sense of groundedness. Yes, while it is humbling to walk beneath edifices holding intangible power and prestige, it also witnesses that dreams do come true. It makes the city feel confident that it has nothing to prove, and no one to convince. It’s already made its mark in the world, a mark we flock to like people flock to “A Starry Night” at MoMA. The constructions—some historical, some modern—the sea of colours—a blend of earth tones, a crisp sky, billboards, a disarray of coats and jackets—and the sounds—high pitched yet somehow perfectly aligned with the city’s touch—it all made me feel present, at peace.
I can not do New York justice by solely putting it in an essay. This metropolis holds unbelievably many sentiments, passions, ideas. It’s a city with unprecedented intensity. It’s not just a concrete grid, supposedly easy to navigate. It’s a maze of wonders, excitement, and, unfortunately, but frankly, troubles, too. It gets under your skin, it wraps you in hope. It almost paralyses you with impressions.
As Lena so minutely put it,
“This is not just a city, it’s a piece of art.”
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