They say if you live in New York for 10 years, you can officially call yourself a New Yorker. But the trained eye can always spot the ones who were born here.
– Sex and the City
This is the 18th in a series of posts about New York; a guest post by my fellow Refine Method-addict and marathoner, EMG.
It was a Tuesday morning: my first full week, third day at a brand new school. At 9:48am, the headmistress called me out of the library where I was studying for an upcoming test, almost an hour after the first plane hit the World Trade Center. Seventeen minutes later, the building where my mother worked on the 92nd floor collapsed.
My life would never be the same; New York would never be the same.
Nearly 14 years later, the city, for the most part, has recovered. I am not sure that you can say the same for me. The City has held some of my best and worst life moments. Every time I walk down the streets and visit the places that I grew up in I am reminded of the wonderful 14 years I had with my mother.
These daily reminders proved to be too much for my father who left New York four years ago. For me however, they are fresh air. They allow me to remember the good times and not to focus on what everyone tries so hard to not forget — the worst day of my life. I remember the bagels that were eaten on a Saturday morning at our local bagel shop; my mom dropping me off at school and family dinners out every Saturday.
The City is an integral part of who I am. My life would be so remarkably different if not for New York City and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
About the author
E was born and raised in Manhattan where she currently resides with her Shitzu Mr. Flip half a block from her childhood apartment. E works for the City of New York. She is a fiercely loyal friend, a creature of habit, a boutique fitness fanatic, and an avid marathoner.