End of an Era
It 8:09 am on Friday morning, and about 25 minutes ago, Kirsten was the latest of my friends to board the super shitty supershuttle and dash off to the airport. We've been up most of the night - Roshni left yesterday at 5pm and Kassie was at 2am this morning, Stacey having already left a few days ago. There's something fitting about my friends leaving on the darkest night of the year. It might be morning now but somehow it doesn't feel like day. I haven't slept properly in weeks as a result of trying to fit everything in, and there have been some pretty severe consequences. I'm now lumbered with an extra essay to write somewhere in between saying goodbye to Amy and James and preparing for Dad's arrival. I don't feel like doing anything right now, apart from maybe resting. My room is full of bits and pieces from my friends, artefacts to comfort me and to remind me that even though they wont be here for the rest of my New York experience, we all still love each other. On my bed alone I have Roshni's comforter, and about three other people's pillows, and I seem to have a box of mac and cheese from almost everyone. In a drawer there are all the beautiful Christmas cards and letters everybody gave me. I couldn't bring myself to write any, it made me feel like someone had died.
While I know that really no one is dead, and that I will be seeing almost all of these fantastic people in just a few short weeks during my West Coast Tour (c), New York just isn't the same. Already it has regained some of the hostile unfamiliarity that it possessed when I first arrived, friendless and clueless. The people I have met here have gone above and beyond the call of friendship to look after me and support me - which I am fully aware can be a pretty difficult task - but more than that, they have made this city for me. The subway, the West Village, Midtown, Broadway, St Marks Place, 25th Street - these places all seem to be somehow less real when not populated by familiar faces. I don't want to go to Times Square alone, I think I would cry.
Just a few days ago we were all together, watching rubbish movies, going to jazz clubs, having Christmas, laughing, crying and being silly. Now it feels like it's just me and the city again, one on one. From the 1st to the7th of January, I will be completely alone - except for I won't, there'll be people visiting, and familiar faces around the dorm and on the streets, and 8 million other New Yorkers ringing in the New Year. I can't find my copy of the New York Writers anthology right now - I suspect that, as usual, Joan Didion would have something appropriate to say about the situation. Instead, I have David Gray, playing over and over in my head. I'm going to sleep, goodnight and good morning kids.
New York was dark
dirty and stark
burning with yellow wings
everyday come
with fever and hum
who knows what it brings
While I know that really no one is dead, and that I will be seeing almost all of these fantastic people in just a few short weeks during my West Coast Tour (c), New York just isn't the same. Already it has regained some of the hostile unfamiliarity that it possessed when I first arrived, friendless and clueless. The people I have met here have gone above and beyond the call of friendship to look after me and support me - which I am fully aware can be a pretty difficult task - but more than that, they have made this city for me. The subway, the West Village, Midtown, Broadway, St Marks Place, 25th Street - these places all seem to be somehow less real when not populated by familiar faces. I don't want to go to Times Square alone, I think I would cry.
Just a few days ago we were all together, watching rubbish movies, going to jazz clubs, having Christmas, laughing, crying and being silly. Now it feels like it's just me and the city again, one on one. From the 1st to the7th of January, I will be completely alone - except for I won't, there'll be people visiting, and familiar faces around the dorm and on the streets, and 8 million other New Yorkers ringing in the New Year. I can't find my copy of the New York Writers anthology right now - I suspect that, as usual, Joan Didion would have something appropriate to say about the situation. Instead, I have David Gray, playing over and over in my head. I'm going to sleep, goodnight and good morning kids.
New York was dark
dirty and stark
burning with yellow wings
everyday come
with fever and hum
who knows what it brings
posted by Chantal @ 5:09 AM
2 Comments:
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hello you. i remember when you first rocked up to New York you could not hail a cab! You are not clueless, you have a new adventure to embrace. Can't wait for the next chapter.
xx
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