i love new york

it was around 9pm, long after the life of day has retreated beyond the hudson river. i was on the brooklyn bound A train. the car was filled with blacks of all ages--bachelors, parents, babies, children, elders--all looking weary from a long day, longing to return to their homes. some bobbed their heads rhythmically to the beats emanating from their headphones, some nodded off with their heads rested against the walls, some made idle chit chat with others, talking about the unuually cool weather or the new mall being constructed in canarsie. everyone wore the same facial expression: the epitome of a poker face, blank and showing no emotion, as if each had a secret or weakness to hide.

the car stopped at jay st. in walked an old black man. his face wrinkled and coarse from surviving fifty or so long years in the city, his eyes lacked focus and alacrity, his hair gray and lifeless. he wore a faded blue t-shirt and paint stained blue jeans, both one size too large, so that they loosely followed the movements of his jerky gait. his once white sneakers were now beat up beyond recognition and he had one strap of his tattered brown bag slung across his crooked back.

immediately, the passengers in the car sensed his presence without visual confirmation, as if this man harbored dark spirits that penetrated everyone's blank stares and threatened everyone's soul. i could see passengers brace themselves when they unintentionally tightened their clutches on their belongings--wallets, purses, bags, children. at the same time, they pretended not to acknowledge the man, as if doing so would release demons into their hearts.

like every homeless begger i have encountered during my stay in new york, he began his plea with 'i am sorry for interrupting everybody's night as i am very ashamed to be here asking you for your help...' as if those words, repeated over and over again to the point when it loses all meaning, can mask the ugliness of life, the dirty and imperfect anomalies, the shame associated with groveling and begging. to him, it is of no matter. he needs food. he needs shelter. he needs to survive.

but tonight, for me, it was no ordinary encounter with a homeless man. he lifted up his blue t-shirt and on the left side of his abdomen where flesh and skin once existed, there was now a deep cavity and a few sloppy stitches to keep the horror from spilling out. my morbid fascination and curiosity kept my eyes fixed on his scar and my ears hanging on every lingering word he spoke: 'i just had my kidney removed and i am very hungry. any amount of money is greatly appreciated.'

what a horror. i have never met anyone who had his kidney removed without professional medical supervision. my only conclusion was that he had it removed on the streets, traded for money or services to help him get by. but why did he need this money? was he in debt? was it to finance his crack habit? my sheltered suburbian mind could not begin to grasp his plight, his situation.

i will have lived in new york city, commonly regarded as the center of the universe, for a full year by the end of this week. of course, when i first moved here i found new york city to be dirty, grimy, and full of short-fused assholes. but after a few months, it definitely grew on me: the 24/7 convenience stores, delivery services for everything (yes, everything), the wide variety of eating establishments, the everlasting night life, the young, beautiful women and the assortment of bars, clubs, lounges, and the list goes on and on. soon, i wouldn't be able to live in the suburbs without feeling restless and bored after a few hours. sure, living in maryland is relaxing and quiet, but after a day's rest i would find myself aching to once again be part of the fast paced life of new york. i found life in maryland purposeless, lazy; life in new york full of energy, fulfillment.

living in new york has taught me too many lessons for me to type into words. i can be lazy and say that it has opened my mind to life, to the harsh realities and the simple pleasures. it has forced me to be accepting and understanding of everybody, to give everybody a chance. for instance, at any given moment on the street or in a subway car, you will meet people from every walk of life--all races, all ages, all professions, all religions, all cultures. living in new york has stopped me from jumping too soon to conclusions and from passing judgment too early. consequently, it has conditioned me to cover my ass, to watch out for thieves, to protect my wallet, myself, and my identity. i learned not to trust, yet at the same time, i learned to give. i learned that everybody is selfish (no free lunch, you economics majors), that someone will not help you out of the pure goodness of his heart, but only with his own benefit in mind (however there are very few exceptions). and this is just my short answer.

new york city is a jungle of deceit and corruption. there are no rules. people need to survive in new york, so they do what they can. new yorkers fight, show no emotion, no weakness. new yorkers become assholes; they have their own shit to worry about, so why should they help somebody else out? new yorkers hate tourists, always walking too slow or stopping erratically in the street (don't they know new yorkers have places to go, people to see?). the new york state of mind engulfs all of its residents, slowly turning everyone into a tough individual able to withstand any obstacle. we have learned that showing any sign of weakness is detrimental in our fight to the top. but how closely does the hard facade resemble the true feelings of the individual?

watching this man's desperate plea for help was such a real, tender, human experience, similar to seeing life being created or life being prematurely taken away. he hobbled up and down the car only to be greeted with closed hands and averted eyes. however, there were some black folks, dressed equally as shabby, who dug deep into their pockets and souls to happily give a few coins. it seems as if those who need help are the few who understand the importance of giving it. i handed the man two dollars.

when i saw the kidney-less man on the A train that day, i was reminded that raw human emotions still exist beneath the stony exterior of the new yorker skin. i knew that regardless of the thick headed quality of new yorkers, they still have some form of compassion, they still can empathize. i understood that new yorkers are some of the most real, human people out there on earth and that i am happy to be living in new york, as one of them.

-andy