Pier 1 Introversion

When I stand at the edge of Manhattan, listening to the toxic water beating against a nonexistent sandy shore, the reality of my life splatters on my face like seagull poop. Manhattan seagulls...As they share the baby blue dance floor with helicopters and the hairline of Jersey, I pray that I never find out what that splattering actually feels like. It’s 4:32... An hour away from my boring economics class...and i’m taking this time to feel like myself again. I come to the Hudson or the East River because being by the coast suddenly makes me remember that I’m on an island. Suddenly I remember that there is a sky bigger than the gaps between skyscrapers. Suddenly I remember why I am here and the people who I have left behind somewhere on the other side of this expanse of water. Feeling alive and reconnecting to yourself is the best date that one could ask for on a sunny and chilly thursday afternoon. The sun looks yellow in the sky until it splatters in a triangle and floats on top of the grimy water. It turns the Hudson, the coal of Northeastern waters if you will, into the purest gold. Light, sparkling, gold paint...splattering and moving in liquid frivolity, and gracing the tops of little waves with its presence.

Hudson View...

East River View...

My fingers are getting too cold to type. This past week New York has been skipping fall and throwing occasional, invisible snowballs at me saying, “haha you like that? Well you aint seen NOTHIN’ yet, sunshine.” Needless to say I’m quaking in my thin boots from tenth grade. Poor boots...you will soon be discarded and replaced with the pretty ones in the window that give you glares laced with judgmental humor. I hope you enjoyed my intentional pun.

A beautiful, speckled bird with feathers like a nice brown, mink coat, landed next to me on the pier. I watched him look sharply around, looking to see if someone was watching no doubt, and quickly regurgitated a small, bright orange object only to swallow it again even more quickly. He had my unwavering attention. The bird’s head started doing its isolations again; up down, left right...so sharp, i’m sure Fosse would be proud. Then a small, brown version of the birds meal of leftovers fell neatly from the bird and onto the deck. I was mesmerized. It was hilarious! But also compelling...Life at its core. The simplest of the many cycles that keep us alive.

Cycles... one is before my eyes and reflected in the water... the sun is starting to go down and sink into the Hudson, while my fingers are begging for it to stay and knit me some golden mittens. Trips like this are cycles for me. I get involved with school, sing, dance, go to sleep, socialize, push through crowds and breath in toxic fumes...until I leave and go to edge of my world for a few hours. I listen...don’t talk to anyone...don’t sing if I can help it...and just be. Be Myself, be lost in thought, and be away from the city...And then sometimes I look. I look at the water, I look at the skyline, and I backwards, and then forwards in time to that other world I also call home.