To Be A Real New Yorker

I’ve realized that to be an official New Yorker, you have to look just a little more awesome than you did the day before. I’ve found that you can do all this with only having ten bucks in your wallet. Funny enough, most of us that live in New York have learned the ways to work around over priced homes, high rent, gas prices fluctuating every week, and inflation that never ends in the supermarket. We have a great taste for fashion, and we try to achieve our daily goals of stepping out th house, looking and smelling like a million bucks with about 20 dollars to your name until payday.

There is a genuine, beautiful art in all this. You know the best deli to get your cheap coffee that’s made just the way you like it, you try to avoid buying lunch outside  because you know that it can run you into about $30 for the week. You can run on red bull for the day, go to work, school, and have time for extra activities and creative hobbies, and still find time to hang with your friends. It isn’t easy, but you’ve probably got a schedule booked up with plans for the week and appointments for your hair or job interviews. New Yorker’s are always trying to find a better job, or work more hours to feed the Marc Jacobs itch, or the weekly H&M splurge. We love things on the sales rack that may have been last season, but somehow, we pull it all together to look like the upcoming preview. We can buy accessories for about 15 bucks and have one signature piece that makes us amazingly unique everyday. There is an art. Somehow, we all don’t explode or implode. Many of us have shrinks that have shrinks, and we meet up with friends just to dish on how much of an ass our boss is. We vent and we saddle up again, becoming stronger and stronger each day.

We try to deal with the chaotic hustle and bustle, and we say we love it all, though we know deep down that it’s killing us slowly. We have dramatic relationships, we are twisted and pulled in every direction by people and many obligations, but we keep on ticking. I look at the ring on my finger as I type. I remember that only paid $3.80 cents for it, though it looks like a ring from the Satya collection. I recall the way I almost had to fight for it in Forever21. I remember the sound of the booming music, and all the people who pushed passed each other without saying excuse, just to get to the rack that has about 20 pieces of the same item there. So much in abundance; so angry we are. We have to look good at all costs. It’s a wonder we don’t explode, implode.

Sometimes we go out in groups to night clubs and bars, just to unwind. The traffic on the highways, in the tunnels, underground, in the bus, on the train, walking, walking a bike…. it gets to you, you know? Sometimes we bring our anger to church and hope to hear a message that will change our lives, change our realities. Nothing. We leave as empty as we walked in, if not worse because our hope and expectancy was distorted and burdened down by the fact that we are in a box.

I love New York. I love the smell of the hot dogs, and the garbage. I love the way you can find an amazing spot in the cut. I love the way love feels right, even when it’s wrong, because the city lights are beaming on the both of you. I love the way the people push, and talk on their phones and it’s as if you don’t even exist. Oh I love it. I love the way someone throws up and people just cross the street. I love the way we fight.

I love New York, but don’t you ever wonder if we’ll explode, implode?

Carmen xoxo

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