Dreaming of the Big Apple

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When I left New York, I had powerful, vivid dreams that made me sleep so deep and still feel tired when I woke up from 12 hour ‘naps’. At first, I put it down to jet lag, but this lasted for six months. I later realised it was homesickness. It is silly really, to even think that you could be homesick from being somewhere for such a short amount of time. But it was the truth. I don’t believe in looking back at the past, but this was something that proved far more difficult than any other transition in my life. I put it down to the power of the city.

I’m not sure if I believe in the cliche of magic, but there is certainly some kind of spell that is cast over New York. One day, I hope to go back and stay. Stay for longer than the three months I was allowed, but the immigration laws will need to change before that happens.

I had always wanted to move to New York, and a younger, more naive me believed it would be as simple as buying a plane ticket with some savings, and going off ski. At the time of deciding to go, I was in a difficult place in my life. I had graduated and previously worked abroad for a year, and was in two minds whether to go back and travel some more, or get a stable job and build a life with a savings fund for a house in the city, similar to the rest of my friends. After trying the latter, and most probably applying far too optimistically for roles such as ‘Editor’ and ‘Director’, I  decided that even when realising what level I was really at, I was just not experienced enough to compete with the celebrity offspring, who still are – in my opinion, getting all of the good roles.

Knowing that it wasn’t possible to get a working visa in the States in my own situation, I looked at other ways in which I could go there for a long period of time on a budget, with the aim of finding writing work out there and building a more solid portfolio – something you will be pleased to know, I did! This resulted in me making plans to move to a boat. That’s right, a boat.

Living on a boat sounded anything but ideal, but it would cost nothing to live on. I had found it on one of those sites, where you can get free accommodation if you work for free, and for New York, it was the only and far better option of the two – the other helping out a magician in Times Square dressed as a clown everyday – not at all sketchy…

It was only when a few other facts came to light about the reality of living on the boat for three months that I stopped in my excited tracks and resorted in going back to the drawing board. As well as smaller things, like the location being very far out, I found out, two days before going, that I would be sharing my room with eight others. Eight. I am all for adventure, but this put another dimension to the expression ‘cabin fever’.

In between answering the phone at a temp job which was funding some of my trip, I frantically searched the world wide web for an affordable room, something far more difficult that I had ever imagined. When I did find a room, in my price range and available during the time of my stay, I felt like singing hallelujah sister liberty. Instead, I panicked – because it was in Harlem. So I told my parents I was moving to the Upper West Side, and prayed it was better than the papers made it out to be.

 

(Taken from my travel blog – The Grass is Greener).

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New York Diary: Strong Feels And Those Sad Last Times

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The lack of posts these last few weeks has been inexcusable and acceptable on equal measures, I feel. I have been savouring every second here, not wanting to write about it as in every way the act of re-telling a story changes a moment from  the present to the past. Even though these moments are becoming memories far too quickly, I have quite liked cherishing them in my head. That way, I can forget how long I have left here and feel that the days are just my normality, rather than a count down to my departure. Even typing that word makes me feel rather strange. It can’t be time, it just can’t.

I’ve been in New York for 11 weeks now and I have seen myself slowly switch from being a wide eyed newbie unaware of the difference between an avenue and a block, the A and the D train and unsure of the worth of the strange looking coins in my purse. Through the weeks, I have swapped from giving a shit about yellow taxis, the Empire State and rats on the subway (well okay, they still freak me out somewhat) and instead just feel at a comfortable ease in this huge beautiful mess of a city.

What makes me most sad, is not having to go home, but knowing I can’t stay. US immigration, you’re a bitch.

Then there is the dreaded return flight. I feel like my life is hanging in limbo. The possibility of what my life could be if there was a way of staying in New York, and how I predict it will be when I go home: dull.

Returning when everything is the same apart from you is one of the most lonely and frustrating feelings, that only others who have lived abroad can understand. You need to figure out a way to re – enjoy your past life, or most likely, change it up again. This is most definitely not a bad thing. Who wants their everyday lives to stay the same. Especially in your twenties. That to me is more depressing than leaving here. Which is a lot.

I guess I am trying to say that I am more than sad to leave New York. Even though I know I can come back, I feel that I would only want to if I was able to stay. Otherwise it’s like giving candy to a baby on Halloween and taking it back, saying “you said for trick”.

If there are any tricks and tips for staying here, apart from a quick fix green card marriage (something I have already thought of many times), please write below.