Tag: brooklyn

The Perspective of Destiny

Entry #21.5 / 9th July 2022

Half an hour later, I wandered down the streets of Brooklyn, attempting to locate a gift shop. I wanted to get a top or a hoodie (preferably a hoodie to add to the ever-growing collection) with Brooklyn written across it—something to cement how incredible this day has been—something that I can wear as a reminder of what happens when I follow my own path.

            But that’s the thing – your own path can lead you to so many unexpected places.

            After walking a good mile next to the East River, I adventured into the streets of Brooklyn, faithfully following Google Maps’s directions. However, after a good couple of minutes of being in my own world and staring at my phone like a Genie Bottle, I glanced upwards.

            My feet stopped before my mind fully caught up. I didn’t understand what I was looking at – it was just endless tall buildings, all styled in unique ways, and a bridge (was it for cars? Or walking?) not too far from where I stopped. I frowned, trying to place this area… It was oddly familiar but not at the same time.

            The city’s busy streets were suddenly replaced with the racing beat of my heart, and I looked around, curious as to what my body was responding to. There was no danger or anyone I knew about…

            Forcing my feet to move, I pulled out my earphones as I took in the area, slowly getting closer and closer to the bridge—a bridge that oddly looked familiar—more familiar than the area itself.

            Eyes narrowed, I came to a soft pause, the familiarity of the bridge now screaming at me. I could’ve been standing there for hours, but when it finally hit me –

            “No…” I shook my head, my body slowly turning in the direction I needed for the familiarity to slip into place. “It can’t –”

            It can be.

            Air evacuated from my being as my eyes settled on the building side across the street. A building that was nothing special. A building that was one of the first few buildings I saw when I first came to New York at fifteen. A building that inspired me to develop a hobby in photography.

            There it was.

            It was a bit different from when I last saw it. I mean, it has been over a decade since. It was bound to change. For one the fire escape stairs were no longer there, and the ground floor windows were gone. Only the first and second floor windows were still in place.

            It was apparent that if someone heard the differences from what it was initially, they would question me on if it was actually the same building.

            But it was the same building. Not only because the bridge was pretty much the same from what I remembered, but… Call it intuition or instinct, but I knew it was the same building, adapted and changed over time.

            Like me.

            Taking a seat on one of the nearby benches just opposite the building, my whole body went into an emotional shock state. Everything around me no longer mattered, as the universe had taken over.

            This… this can’t be a coincidence.

            Many people may scoff at this, but in recent years, I have come to believe the universe speaks to us – speaks to me – to highlight to us that we are on the correct path. It can happen with recurring places, phrases, words or a building.

            The NYC Public Library. Brooklyn Bridge. The photographers. Washington Street. Cecconi’s Dumbo. Pebble Beach.

            There were so many moments today—unforgettable, happy, independent—where my individuality shined as the sun did, where I finally began to understand the world, understand why I am here…

            I was meant to see this. I was meant to see Washington DC, NYC, Brooklyn and any of my upcoming future travels…

            And it’s meant to be just me.

            I stared and stared at the building. Another piece of the puzzle of my life fitting into place. That, despite all the doubts, disbelief and opinions of others, I was headed down the right path. My path isn’t as simple as a single job, a house, marriage and kids…

            My path is something completely different.

            And the universe is screaming at me to embrace it.

***

The rest of the day was a joyful blur. I couldn’t find the gift shop I was looking for, but it didn’t bother me too much. I already felt much more fulfilled than when the day started—the hoodie would’ve just been an added bonus. However, I strolled through some neighbourhoods and got the photo my sister had requested.

            I didn’t want to leave Brooklyn. I wanted to stay in this universe-talking-to-me bubble for as long as possible, but even I knew it was probably best to leave before sunset. I didn’t know the streets at all, where it was safe to be, or what to avoid. So, once finishing my round of self-timing pictures, I headed towards the Brooklyn Bridge and crossed it for the second time before catching a subway back to Grand Central.

***

When I returned to Pleasantville, I was in no hurry to return to the university campus. Instead, after getting some food from 7-Eleven, I stopped by the small park near the campus – Oppermans Pond Park.

            Sitting on the fishing platform, I watched the beauty of the sunset, which coloured the sky pink and purple, and the pond responded to the gentle colours with its tiny sparkles and smooth waves. While I’m not a massive fan of fish, I could even appreciate the sight of various fish swimming in their natural home.

            It was a perfect way to end a perfect day.

            ‘Note to self!’ The bright voice returned, though her voice felt more like a hum than its normal exclaims. ‘Always end the day on a sunset!’

            I smiled at the thought, refusing to move as I watched the day end.

Cool, free pizza!

Entry #21.4 / 9th July 2022

Once I stepped onto the Brooklyn grounds, I made my way to Washington Street, which had that famous filmlike view of the Manhattan Bridge. Luckily, a few tourists helped me take some photos standing in the street, and then I managed to get a few good self-timer photos that consisted of me sitting on the street with the bridge in the background (the self-timer photos turned out better than the full street ones).

            It was surreal to stand in a place I had seen so many times in films and TV shows (Gossip Girl, looking at you) that you thought wouldn’t match reality, but it was definitely better in person than on screen. The only difference was the overwhelming crowds around me – which surprisingly was easy to tune out with the amount of wanderlust roaring in me.

            Though, that wasn’t the only thing roaring in me.

            Once I was satisfied with the photos I took, I looked up restaurants within the area and, after seeing the costs on the menu, settled on Cecconi’s Dumbo.

            Making my way through the centre building, where a whole lot of restaurants were held, I joined the small queue for Cecconi’s Dumbo and was eventually served.

            “Hello there, welcome to Cecconi’s. How many are we serving today?”

            “Oh, ugh, just me.”

            The server just kept her bright smile, though. “Oh perfect! Would you mind sitting at the bar?”

            I returned the bright smile. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

            I followed the server to the bar and sat near the open doors, which overlooked the scenery of the Manhattan Bridge.

            Once I got comfortable on my bar seat, the server returned, whose bright smile never wavered for a second. “Here’s the menu. Is there anything you want now, or do you want to look first?”

            I pushed my lips together. “Do you have orange juice?”

            “Yes, we do.”

            “Can I have a glass of orange juice, please?”

            “Comin’ right up.”

            Even though I was reading through the menu, I already knew what I wanted—the cheapest food item on the menu.

            Pizza.

            Soon, my glass of orange juice was in front of me, along with a jug of water with a glass filled with ice. Which I was grateful for as my water bottle was running low – is it wrong to use it to fill my water bottle?

            “Are you ready to order?” The server – Maddie, on the name tag – asked once all the items were settled on the bar.

            “Ugh, yes, can I have the Margherita pizza, please?”

            “Of course!”

            The rest of the time I was waiting for food, I charged and scrolled through my phone. I saw some photos of Coney Island from the others on Instagram and was surprised by the lack of desire—the lack of “oh shoot, I should’ve gone.” This was mainly because I was having such a positive and bright day. I didn’t need anything else on top of it, nor really anyone else.

            At some point, two girls sat down at the further end of the bar and soon ordered their own food and drinks.

            Minutes went into minutes, and my stomach was begging for some food. But I understood how busy they were as many more people were coming in, so I didn’t ask for an update or anything.

            Almost twenty minutes after they arrived, the two girls got their order – Margherita pizza.

            I narrowed my eyes slightly but saw it as a positive. Since they have gotten their pizza now, I should be getting it now, too.

            But I didn’t; minutes rolled on until Maddie stopped by, and her eyebrows raised.

            “Have you not got your pizza yet?”

            I shook my head, “No, not yet.”

            A flash of determination sparked in Maddie’s eyes as she set off behind the bar and to the kitchen area to find out what was happening.

            Another five minutes later, Maddie returned with the pizza in question. I lit up at the sight of food, and once it was placed in front of me, Maddie met my eyes.

            “This is on the house.” I blinked in surprise. Your pizza was accidentally given to someone else. So, this is on us.”

            “Oh,” I breathed out before rushing out: “Thank you!”

            I glanced over to the two girls on the other end of the bar, finishing up on the pizza as one thought ran through my head:

            Cool, free pizza!

***

Once I had eaten the pizza and filled up my water bottle, I paid for the two orange juices I had and left a big tip for Maddie. She was one of the most enthusiastic servers I ever met, and she made sure to take care of me, so it was the least I could do.

            I then headed back to Washington Street to walk through Brooklyn Bridge Park. It beautifully looked over the East River and New York City. But then, as I walked further into the park, I saw a crowd of people in one part. I couldn’t understand why at first, as the view of the location was blocked by trees and bushes. It was only when I rounded across the pathway that I understood why.

            It was a beach—Pebble Beach—where many people were on the pebbles, dipping their feet in the East River’s waters or completely standing in them. There was even a bride and groom on the pebbles, with a photographer taking photos of them.

            It was a gorgeous view. The Brooklyn Bridge was not too far away, and NYC was in the distance. The sun was very high in the sky, making the small beach glow and twinkle.

            Stepping down the steps to the beach, I slowly removed my trainers and socks. Putting my bag in a safe distance and my phone in my back pocket, I went down onto the pebbles. With a few soft and sharp pokes from the stones below, my feet eventually met the cool waters of the East River.

            Oh gosh, I thought as the water splashed on my legs and my toes wiggled in the sea; I dipped my feet in the waters of Brooklyn. How many people can say they’ve done that?

            I laughed out loud then, joy and wonder matching the strength of the shining sun above.

            “I don’t want you to miss out on anything.”

            Rightness cascaded against me with the waves of the river, the world fitting into another puzzle of understanding as Brooklyn charged itself around me.

***

Photos on the Bridge

Entry #21.3 / 9th July 2022

‘Why the hell are we trusting Google Maps again?’ The responsible voice weighed in as I stumbled onto one of the subway trains. Everyone glanced my way as I slightly tripped to an available seat. I double-checked the subway number on the notice boards above as it left the station. ‘We’re just asking for disaster at this point.’

           I paid no mind to the responsible voice as music erupted into my ears. Over the past few years, I’ve been able to deal with crowds much better than I had, but being on my own in a completely new place was enough to make my anxiety tinkle a little.

           It wasn’t long until I arrived at the destination, and soon, climbing out of the subway tunnels, I was back on the streets of New York and heading towards the main attraction for the day.

           The Brooklyn Bridge.

           When I briefly spoke to others who had been to the bridge, I was deflated to hear that they didn’t fully enjoy the experience or that it wasn’t worth all the buzz. It was cool to see, but nothing spectacular.

           However, as soon as I laid eyes on the bridge as I rounded a corner, I knew my experience would be far different from theirs.

           Excitement – no, what’s a better word?

           A fire of exhilaration festered through me. The crowds slowly became a blur with each step I took towards the bridge. Childlike wonderment makes my bones nearly spring out of its covered skin. And to the many strangers on the street, I probably looked like a blonde maniac.

           (Which I probably am one hundred per cent of the time.)

           At this point, I wasn’t even on the bridge yet.

           It took a few minutes of politely pushing past people when I finally took my first steps on the bridge.

           Words couldn’t, and will never, fully explain how beautiful the views were. It wasn’t, at first sight, the views – you had to walk a bit further into the bridge to see and appreciate the views that it indeed offered. But once you did…

           What the fuck were the others on about?

           I felt the anxiety of the crowds around me diminish as the views… Beautiful, gorgeous, breath-taking… No description I could ever come up with could genuinely capture what I was seeing. The sun was glistering in the sea below. The high buildings shine proudly. Cars rushing below our feet sound like a constant heartbeat on the bridge. I was walking on something that could be built anywhere, but the flowing energy the bridge held within its stands… It felt more like I was meeting an old soul who had seen and lived through it all and still created such authentic originality that held its own purpose in this world.

           Pausing to truly take in the sights and take a few photos, I then came across another market stand—of sorts.

           It was a woman standing off to the side with a sign advertising Polaroid photo-taking. I saw the woman (who was obviously working it) taking a Polaroid photo of a couple with the Brooklyn Bridge in the background.

           Titling my head to the side, I slowly approached the woman’s stand as she finished with the couple and looked at the sign.

           “$5 for a Polaroid!”

           “Hi there!” The woman welcomed me as soon as she noticed I was reading her sign. She had such an infectious, enthusiastic smile. “Would you like a photo?”

           I pushed my lips together, contemplating, before a shrug took over my body. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

           After a few directions from the woman and positioning myself flatteringly, the photo was taken, and the five dollars were well spent.

           However, as I approached the bridge’s connection, I saw people standing up on the stands and taking photos. I glanced around, seeing many tourists in the surroundings, but none that looked… trustworthy. And I didn’t feel like I could approach the ones that were.

           Looks like I’ll have to make do.

           Once a spot became available, I hurled myself into one of the stands, sitting on the edge and tried to think of ways to take a photo.

           ‘You could always balance it against your bag again, ‘ the bright voice advised, though the uncertainty in her voice highlighted the nerves of doing that.

           It was fine to do it at the library, but with the number of crowds on the bridge, The moment my back is turned, or I’m too far away, someone will probably see it as a chance to nick my phone.

           I can’t afford to get a new phone in America or anywhere else.

           So, I settled on taking a few selfies, which wasn’t jaw-dropping, but it’s something.

           However, on my pause and as I accessed a way to make a great selfie of myself and the bridge, a man—somewhere between his late fifties and mid-sixties—approached me with a camera in his hands.

           “Would you like a few photos?” He asked with a small smile.

           I hesitated.

           ‘It’s probably going to cost some money.’ The responsible voice concluded.

           But I don’t have to buy them? I argued back thoughtfully. At least not all the ones he takes. If he takes one I like, I can just buy that one.

           I nodded enthusiastically, shifting my sitting position on the stand as the man backed up. I then posed – one just smiling towards the camera, then another pose with my arm up in the air with an excited expression. A few minutes later, after a few poses, the man approaches me again with the camera screen turned towards me.

           He showed me the photos, including the non-flattering one he took before speaking to me.

           “How much?” I asked after a few moments of looking.

           “Sixty dollars.” The man said after a few moments of contemplating.

           I grimaced, “how about for just two photos?”

           “Ten dollars.”

           I nodded. “Can I just have two, then?”

           The man nodded, “Which ones?”

           I then stared thoughtfully at the set of photos, “Hmm…” I freaking hate being an adult sometimes.

           “How about thirty dollars for all of them?” The man then suggested after a few long moments of silence (well, not complete silence. We were on the Brooklyn Bridge).

           I frowned, “Are you sure?” I’m not messing with this man’s livelihood!

           He smiled again, though, “Yes, I’m sure. It’s only a few photos.”

           After plugging his camera into my phone and downloading the photos onto my phone, I paid him and thanked him repeatedly before continuing across the bridge into Brooklyn.

***

A Meaning of a Name

Entry #21.2 / 9th July 2022

Going to the Treasures Exhibit was another good decision that day. While there were a lot of histories in there to wrap my head around, it was still amazing to see and learn about. One of the items there was Congress’ Declaration of Independence—I’m pretty sure it was also one of the original copies.

            I also saw the teddies that inspired Winnie the Pooh’s creation. It was so weird to see the exact models that the stories were inspired by instead of the cartoon versions. It made the whole thing much more… authentic. 

            And then I came across Charles Dickens’s desk and chair. According to the information stands, this was likely the desk and chair Dickens used to write some chapters of Great Expectations.

            I have never read Charles Dickens’s works, much to my disappointment. Part of me always wanted to, but… I always felt that famous authors like Charles Dickens were way too smart for me. Plus, as I grew older, it was hard to find the time to read what I wanted, let alone anything else.

            It may be time to change that.

            Everything else in the Treasures Exhibit was a bonus. And I couldn’t help feeling an intimate connection as I read about each treasure within this Exhibit. It could’ve been down to the room’s low lighting or how closed everything was, but these items, no matter how insignificant they may seem at first, meant something. They were essential to those who were important to history.

            It made me think of items that were important to ordinary people—to me. We were all important in our ways. We all made history just as much as we are part of it and contributing to it still.

            I wonder if, at the end of our lives, instead of having our lives flash before our eyes, we had some kind of personal museum, holding each item that was important to us and that helped us live our lives in the ways we did.

            What would be in my museum? My two childhood teddies – Teddy and Kaitlyn? The first story I ever wrote – first on that electronic whiteboard and then in that small handmade paper booklet? That hoodie I got when I first came to New York back when I was fifteen that was still stashed somewhere in one of my many memory boxes?

            I wonder what would be in my Dad’s museum, Zara’s, Jonesy’s, Mitchy’s, Evan’s, and any others I loved. I wonder what would be in their exhibits. I wonder what seemingly insignificant items would be shown to highlight who they are and how they became who they are.

            It added so much meaning to the Treasures Exhibit overall that when I finally crept out, I felt like I was in a deep slumber and had finally woken up.

            Feeling a mixture of heaviness and lightness, I continued to explore the library, my head deep in thought as I took everything in.

            Everywhere I turned and walked down was beautiful. Some of it was modernised here and there, mainly with a few security cameras glaring down at me, but overall, from what I could tell, the library kept to its original design. What was the most gorgeous area, though, was the top floor. 

            I gasped as I took in the ceiling art. It briefly reminded me of the painting that my Dad (for whatever reason) has/had. It seemingly depicted some sort of heavenly battle, with the men either topless or naked (why are they always naked?) waving some sort of weapon as they floated about in the air.

            It was beautiful. Something that definitely caught your eye.

            However, once I had fully absorbed the ceiling, with a jaw-dropping experience, a few photos, and a video, I assessed the area overall. There were three directions I could walk through—one was a singular room, another possibly led somewhere else, and another seemed to be an insect exhibit.

            I wandered through the open entryway to the first room to the right – which was Edna Barnes Salomon’s Room. It seemed to be an extensive study area open to the public to walk through, take photos and sit at the many tables. It was interesting to walk through, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many writers, academics, and other important people have worked here. Writing various stories, researching and developing projects, or even writing arguments to support their causes. 

            With those wonderments, I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated and was grateful to let out a long breath as I exited the room. That was until my eyes landed on the room opposite. 

            Rose Main Reading Room.

            It felt weird. Having my name written on the stone of the NYC Public Library wasn’t my full name, but – you get my point.

            Once upon a time, I felt uncomfortable with my name. At first, growing up, I never felt like I lived up to the image of the world’s most beautiful flower. Whether it was down to insecurity or… well, that, I felt that pressure to hold that same outer beauty.

            It seems stupid, but that’s how a young mind works. As I got older and became a writer, I realised that a name is important to the person as a whole.

            A name doesn’t define who you are. Heck, I changed both my middle and last names. But whenever I created a character, their first name needed to be perfect. To represent their path, to symbolise, in some way, who they are as a person. It didn’t have to be down to the meaning of the name itself, but something that was deeply important in the story and added more weight to the character and the story as a whole.

            And then, back in 2020 (before all the chaos), on my flight to Amsterdam, I read the beginning chapters of Light is the New Black by Rebecca Campbell, who expressed her own spiritual meaning towards her name and how it made sense for the way her life was going and where it was headed.

            It made me see my own name in a new light and comforted me.

            As a rose is a flower, and what are flowers meant to do? Grow. 

            It would be years later, just before I came to America, that a new meaning was added to my name.

            But even as I had grown accustomed to and even liked my name, seeing it written somewhere important—even if it wasn’t directed towards me—made me feel uncomfortable.

            This is what made the first year of living in York a bit awkward at times. A large part of Tudor history is rooted there—the Yorkshire Rose, the Tudor Rose, and the English Rose. 

            I got used to it after a while—until someone pointed it out to me, and then I would have to overcome my uncomfortableness with some kind of stupid joke.

            However, I was curious about the opposite room and walked more towards it. I saw a line of sorts outside, with security manning the entrance. From the looks of things, tourists weren’t allowed in. I could see people on the inside, leading me to suspect only certain people were allowed in.

            Tourists were being denied just as they approached, though that didn’t stop them from taking some photos from where they stood before moving on.

            Looking around briefly, I saw a sign that informed people that no photos were to be taken inside and that they must only read, handwrite, or use a computer inside to work.

            My eyebrows rose, and curiosity got the better of me. I got in line as a person was being let inside.

            When it was my turn, the security guard looked up at me expectantly, seemingly preparing to turn me away.

            “Sorry, but I was wondering,” I began, my voice a bit higher in pitch as nerves overtook me. “If I bring a laptop to do some work, am I allowed in there?”

            A tiny smile lifted the security guard’s stony lips. “Yes, of course.”

            I let out a breath, “cool. Thank you!” I left the line, feeling enthusiastic and excited for the next time I came here.

            I mean, how many people can say they did their writing in the NYC Public Library?

***

Ug… Lipstick?

Entry #21.1 / 9th July 2022

Last night was an emotional one. I was also a crying wreck as I said my last goodbyes to Janette and Ryan (as they would be leaving midday today) and had McDonald’s with them. I tried to keep my tears to myself, but I was unsuccessful at some points.

            The next day came in a rush, and whilst the internal dread of the next couple of weeks was still hanging in the pit of my stomach, I tried to push that aside and get ready for my planned day.

            I managed to get my hair done yesterday, so that was a win.

            Once I applied my makeup and dressed, I saw Becky and Lewis in our shared dorm room. We exchanged hellos briefly as I zizzed around the room, collecting everything I needed today.

            “Are you coming with us to Coney Island?” Becky then asked. Lewis sat back comfortably on her bed, seemingly scrolling through his phone.

            I paused, remembering how last night, as I calmed down from my first wave of tears, Courtney and the others had invited me to go to Coney Island with them. It was an olive branch – if there was one needed – and it was something that had been playing on my mind. Coney Island was on my list of places to visit in NYC, but I hadn’t figured out when or who.

            I had briefly discussed it with Janette and Ryan, but now…

            “I’m not a hundred per cent sure yet,” I confessed, a battleground weighing in my mind. “I’m going to decide on the train.”

            ‘Seems like a good idea,’ the responsible voice came in as I packed my water bottle in my small clutch bag. ‘Just go with the flow… whatever nonsense that is.’

            Always the over-planner.

            I actually was having nice and decent conversations with everyone that morning. I don’t know if it was based on pity or just something in the air, but it was nice not to feel so… ostracised as before.

            Maybe I should go to Coney Island with everyone? I thought as we all walked with one another to the train station. A good way for me to bond with everyone? And I can tick Coney Island off my list without going alone.

            It was a constant battle in my head. I made all logical and reasonable reasons to go with the group to Coney Island. Even the responsible voice was agreeing with it! But something… Something was holding me back.

            And that was answered on the train journey.

            I tried conversing on the train journey to NYC, but it felt awkward and forced. I’m not saying everyone must constantly talk, but there were uncomfortable moments whenever I said anything that increased the awkwardness. I don’t think it was done intentionally, but I don’t believe we jammed.

            Don’t go. The thought stamped itself as the train got closer and closer. It wasn’t my thoughts or my version of the Chuckle Brothers, but it was one of intuition, instinct, or both wrapped into one. Don’t go. Stick to your plans.

            I pushed my lips together, my heart hammering as I briefly took in everyone around me.

            You won’t enjoy it.

            I closed my eyes then, not liking that my inner subconsciousness was more blunt than the responsible voice.

            Go to Brooklyn.

            My heart rate slowed as I gave a slight nod to myself. The decision was made as the train rolled into a stop at the NYC Grand Central Station.

            As we all piled off the train and towards the station, within the restaurant area, I turned towards everyone with a small smile.

            “I’m actually going to Brooklyn,” I told no one in particular. “You guys go on.”

            Courtney’s eyebrows furrowed downwards. “You sure?”

            “Yeah.” I let out a long breath, “I think I’m just going to stick to my original plans. But you guys have fun at Coney Island.”

            Swiftly saying my goodbyes to everyone, I exited Grand Central and exhaled as the chaotic city sang around me.

***

The walk to the New York Public Library wasn’t long—which was surprising, as Google Maps said the previous night, as it was almost an hour’s walk from Grand Central. And now it’s had a total mood change and said it was fifteen minutes.

            Get your shit together, Google.

            Once the map said it was just around the corner, I propped my phone back in my pocket and followed its direction. My eyes widened as I took in the building from across the street.

            The first thing I noticed was just how out of place it seemed. Here was a beautifully designed building made with carefully crafted marble, and its surroundings were such a total city that if you took the buildings individually, they would be completely ordinary. It didn’t seem right for this type of building to be slap-down in the middle of such a fast-paced city.

            But it didn’t detract from its beauty. In some ways, it even added to it. Amid the city that never sleeps stood a building that gave a much-needed flair to all the individual unappealing buildings that lined the streets.

            It made me more excited to explore the inside.

            Making my way across the street, I smiled up towards the marble building, relieved and pleased that I had chosen to stick to my plans today.

            “Excuse me?” A woman approached me as I stared at the building for… however long I was staring at it. “Would you mind taking a picture of us?”

            I blinked momentarily, processing what was being asked of me as I observed two other women standing beside a lion statue outside the library. “Oh! Yeah, sure!” I took the phone from the woman who requested the photos and saw it was already in camera mode.

            The three women made various poses in front of the statue, and after a minute or so, the first woman approached me again with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much!”

            I smiled, too, though I hesitated slightly as I returned the phone. “Would you mind… taking photos of me too?”

            The woman’s smile widened, “of course!”

            My smile grained its brightness as I put my phone on camera mode and passed it over to the woman. After a few smiles and poses before the lion statue, I returned the thanks as I received my phone back.

             After taking a few self-timer photos of myself walking towards the library (total Instagram photos), I entered the library.

            The first thing that struck me was the security. There was a line for it, and as each individual was assessed and checked, I realised they were also checking through bags.

            Fuck. I felt anxiety fill me.

            ‘Okay, why are you panicking?’ The responsible voice was baffled. ‘Unless you’ve purchased some kind of firearm or acquired a bomb in the last twenty minutes, there’s no reason to panic.’

            But what if I have something in my bag that I need to realise is in there and isn’t allowed? I argued, thinking of what I packed in this morning.

            ‘Like what?’ The bright voice inquired, just as baffled as the responsible counterpart. 

            Ug… Lipstick?

            ‘You’re an idiot.’

            Sure enough, the security man checked my bag briefly before giving me the okay to go in, and I rolled my eyes at my idiocy.

            Observing the library’s entrance, I saw that it was just as impressive as it was on the outside. However, the crowds were a bit more intimidating. Pushing down the social anxiety that was threatening to resurface, I made my way over to the information desk to get a map of the library and saw another booklet there. It was of Treasures Exhibit within the library, and after quickly locating it on the library map, I saw it was only across the room from where I stood.

            I debated for a moment before I gestured my arms up. “Why the hell not?”

***

The Photograph

Echo #3 / February 2011

Screams—mainly girlish, high-pitched screams—blasted through the travel bus as our eyes were set on the view through the tinted windows. 

           We had just landed at JFK Airport an hour ago, and after the teachers helped us get our luggage, we went to find the travel bus that had been organized for us. Apparently, getting to the hotel where we were staying would take an hour. But the excitement was high on the bus, which was heightened when we first saw the landscape of New York City.

           I’m pretty sure the loudest screams came from me, though. From the corner of my eye, I could see Cornelia, my close friend, rub her ear momentarily afterward.

           As part of our drama class, the class and school offered us a trip to New York City for a few days. Apart from seeing a Broadway show, I wasn’t sure how this was meant to further our education in the subject, but I didn’t question it. It had taken a bit of convincing, but my Dad agreed to let me go.

           I always dreamed of coming to New York City and possibly living here one day. As a big FRIENDS fan and slow-developing writer, it was the dream location.

           Soon, the high squeals and enthusiastic chatter died down. Many people, including me, just took in the streets and took photos that the bus was traveling through. 

           “Just to let you guys know!” one of the teachers began, standing up from her seat at the front to gain all the students’ attention. “We’re currently driving through Brooklyn!”

           There were a lot of o’s and ahs to that, everyone falling into an interested silence as we continued to roll through the streets.

           At some point, as the bus rolled under a bridge of sorts, it stopped. The traffic made any journey to the hotel slow.

           I turned excitedly to Cornelia next to me, “Can you actually believe we’re here? After all the months of waiting, it’s finally happening!”

           Cornelia shook her head in disbelief. “It’s hard to believe it! I might ask you to pinch me later!”

           I giggled and looked back out the window. The weather did not reflect the warm emotions inside the bus. One of the teachers said it would probably snow in the few days we were here, which I didn’t know was necessarily a good thing. Due to my lack of coordination and clumsy nature, snow was asking for trouble. 

           The bus moved slightly more forward, giving me a view of a building to its side. It was a typical New York neighbourhood building: old-style bricks, familiar windows within a few feet of each other, and fire escapes at each window. The image was so interesting, though, as the dirserly weather complimented it rather than hardened it.

           So, naturally, I reached for my camera on my lap and took a photo of it. Once it was taken, I looked at the screen and smiled at the beautiful image.

           I turned to my friend beside me. “Cornelia –” I cut myself off as I realized her attention was on one of the teachers, who I hadn’t even realized had started speaking again.

           Looking back to the side of the building, I raised my camera again to take another photo, but the bus suddenly started moving again. Soon, the sight was gone, but I looked back, taking in the area and committing it to memory. I hoped to be around the area again before we left so I could take another beautiful photo.