magic, the gentry, and getting caught in the rain
so the magic of my job has worn off, and i think that's mostly because i spend so much time in the same space facing the same people and not meeting new people like i've met last week.
instead of focusing the sparkles and awe on my job, i thought it would be refreshing if i talked about new york outside of the scope of being politically and morally correct.
i don't live downtown. i reside in a rundown neighborhood scant of supermarkets and people but rampant with factories and cigarette butts. there is a mural i admire every day when i walk outside, decorated in bright colors and lasting for about a block. on it are the illustrations of the latinx community going about daily life.
i am on the train. i am trying my best to read who is to blame? by alexander herzen, but it's a satire. i wonder if people think i'm a die-hard socialist for reading this in public. there is a couple arguing. there is a mariachi band playing. there is a woman asking for money. none of that distracts me. in fact, i admire how they add to the ambiance of the whole new york experience. it is the lack of that noise that distracts me. sooner or later, they each get off on their stop, one by one, until i am the only one left in my train car. and i continue to read, but i cannot. and so i just sit quietly until i get off on my stop.
when i step outside of my workplace, i hear the cacophony of honking horns and chinese dialect. there are street vendors selling exotic tropical fruit, and, however overpriced they are, i admire their stubbornness to stand out in the heat with their visors and their fans and their fellow ripoff-LV-bag vendors.
i try my best to get off at least one random stop every few days and explore the surrounding neighborhood. there are aesthetic neon lights and high-class food options as well as expensive makeups and clothing and skincare products. there are people in suits that i admire in the humid 85 degree weather and there are families in groups that i admire to so blatantly pull out maps upon maps, not ashamed that they are lost. and although i know these streets were paved for the men in suits and the families in groups, and i know that they would never step a foot outside downtown to admire the same mural that i admire on the way to work every day, and i know they would probably fall for the fake-LV-bag-scam and the overpriced-exotic-fruit-scam, i can't help but admire them too.
it starts raining. it starts raining, and i have an umbrella, but i don't have it with me. and so i stand there, under an awning, watching rain pelt my shoes. i admire the audacity of the size of the raindrops. i don't admire how it starts attacking me as i walk home, past the mural, and to my front door. i stick my key into the lock and i cannot get the door to open. so i stand there. i stand there while i am drenched, imagining myself being wrung out like a towel and cleansed so that i can see the magic in things again.
because, in the city, there is a beauty in everything. even if i can't see it on certain days. even if the beauty was built off of other people's oppressions.
instead of focusing the sparkles and awe on my job, i thought it would be refreshing if i talked about new york outside of the scope of being politically and morally correct.
i don't live downtown. i reside in a rundown neighborhood scant of supermarkets and people but rampant with factories and cigarette butts. there is a mural i admire every day when i walk outside, decorated in bright colors and lasting for about a block. on it are the illustrations of the latinx community going about daily life.
i am on the train. i am trying my best to read who is to blame? by alexander herzen, but it's a satire. i wonder if people think i'm a die-hard socialist for reading this in public. there is a couple arguing. there is a mariachi band playing. there is a woman asking for money. none of that distracts me. in fact, i admire how they add to the ambiance of the whole new york experience. it is the lack of that noise that distracts me. sooner or later, they each get off on their stop, one by one, until i am the only one left in my train car. and i continue to read, but i cannot. and so i just sit quietly until i get off on my stop.
when i step outside of my workplace, i hear the cacophony of honking horns and chinese dialect. there are street vendors selling exotic tropical fruit, and, however overpriced they are, i admire their stubbornness to stand out in the heat with their visors and their fans and their fellow ripoff-LV-bag vendors.
i try my best to get off at least one random stop every few days and explore the surrounding neighborhood. there are aesthetic neon lights and high-class food options as well as expensive makeups and clothing and skincare products. there are people in suits that i admire in the humid 85 degree weather and there are families in groups that i admire to so blatantly pull out maps upon maps, not ashamed that they are lost. and although i know these streets were paved for the men in suits and the families in groups, and i know that they would never step a foot outside downtown to admire the same mural that i admire on the way to work every day, and i know they would probably fall for the fake-LV-bag-scam and the overpriced-exotic-fruit-scam, i can't help but admire them too.
it starts raining. it starts raining, and i have an umbrella, but i don't have it with me. and so i stand there, under an awning, watching rain pelt my shoes. i admire the audacity of the size of the raindrops. i don't admire how it starts attacking me as i walk home, past the mural, and to my front door. i stick my key into the lock and i cannot get the door to open. so i stand there. i stand there while i am drenched, imagining myself being wrung out like a towel and cleansed so that i can see the magic in things again.
because, in the city, there is a beauty in everything. even if i can't see it on certain days. even if the beauty was built off of other people's oppressions.
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