August 31, 2006

Eight years ago, today, a stuffed Super Shuttle van drove past the David Letterman marquee in midtown and dropped off a group of tourists, before continuing east to the darker streets of the upper 50s. At the last stop, near 1st avenue, the van purged itself of five young kids with stars in their eyes, looking to start a new chapter of their lives in New York.

I still remember standing on the street with our bags. I remember going to the grocery store under the bridge for breakfast (I found it again years later and was amazed at its presence). I remember the mad scramble the next morning to find a new apartment and how quickly we decided it was ours when we found it. We had drinks on the terrace and New York City was an amazing adventure in the making. I had longed for so many years to be there, and suddenly I was, and it was as though there had never been a time before it.

It is eight years since I first set foot on Manhattan soil, eight years since I first moved here. And at the beginning was it not much infatuation and silly puppy love? Eight years later, it seems I love the city more than I ever knew I could. Have we not grown together, New York, through poverty, and loss, and pure elation? Have we not loved in magic?

The days passed so quickly.
I have loved every one,
because of you.