Tag: brooklyn bridge

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.

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.

***

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.

***