There Should be an Island for You People

There is, it’s called Manhattan.

One can also compare it to an ocean – the place where all the big fish from little ponds wind up adapting to the salt water and swim around trying not to get eaten by the bigger fish – and as a rule, there are always bigger fish.

New York City is unlike any other city in America, perhaps the world even. For the people that live/survive/permanently vacation here, one is considered a New Yorker although not necessarily an American. We host the United Nations and many of the world’s tempest tossed inhabitants needing a place to crash and call home. Everyone is welcome here and every nation is represented by the inhabitants. Chances are there is a neighborhood within the 5 boroughs which define New York City, where a certain ethnic group has converged to create a mini-me of their origins. Some of my neighbors and I would support this place succeeding from the United States and being its own country if that were a feasible option. The rest of the country realizes our exclusive natures and dislikes us like in a way similar to the people in line for an event watching those on the guest list making grand entrances.

To be defined as a true New Yorker, the popular belief is that one should live in the city for at least 10 years. Personally I disagree with this since I was a New Yorker before I actually moved here from the mainland. From my earliest memories I knew this would be the place I would call home and have now for 2 decades. There are many others like me – New Yorkers that took a while to arrive and others that we’re still waiting on to get their asses here already.

Living in a model version of the world has been an opportunity for me to experience so much culture. I can rummage through the stack of menus in my kitchen and order dishes from half the globe. Italian, Mexican, Ethiopian, Thai, Japanese, Mandarin, Polish, Irish, Indian and many others types of restaurants are all within a 5 block radius. We even have an Outback here which really is American food pretending to be Australian as Sebastian has pointed out in a recent post. I can polka, salsa and 2-step on any given night although my personal dance style is more along the lines of gay go-go. I see more subtitled films than Hollywood productions because the latter I get on DVD and I’d rather spend the small fortune for a movie ticket toward films that need support.

Once one has figured out they are a New Yorker, you see we’re born this way but sometimes aren’t aware of the fact until later in life, they find themselves surrounded by other New Yorkers in any other place practically. When I made the mistake of moving to LA (for love – so maybe not such a mistake as a bewitching), the first friends I made and kept we’re all New Yorkers. Pretty much all inhabitants of that city speak against it, but the New Yorkers were always the worst. When you get us to live somewhere else we can adapt but never truly fit in although some hide this fact better than others. Like the sea calls to the sailor when he is on land, the city calls us home when we’re not here. It’s like one of the magnetic poles to the soul for a New Yorker.

As I draw to a close here, I wonder if this post will strike a chord with any of its readers. If so, come home, we miss you even if we haven’t met you yet.