new york cares, new york cares
Out of seven faces, thought I knew which one to wear
Just as I had a certain image of myself in Italy before I'd ever left, it was the same with NYC, only vastly different. I wanted to be the hippest urban side of myself, all skirts and tights, strong in my wonder and sustained by my own street smarts and ability to blend in as well as my imagination. I was to be the fruition of my inner self, of everything that I ever wanted to be, but in New York. It had been such a long time coming, after all.
I'm sick of spending these lonely nights training myself not to care
And yet I was nervous to the point of being sick, and I stayed up all night before I left. I was exhausted from incorporating all of my youthful ambitions with the disappointments and hopes from the past six years into this one trip. I knew I had a lot to figure out, as well as a lot to prove to myself. And I missed my friends, and being that city self that only gets to come out and play every few months. I am a brilliant city girl, after all. One would never realize that I grew up on a farm in the rural south with cows and sheep and buffalo. Though the everlasting caveat is ever-present: I always long to be where I am not.
The subway is a porno, the pavements, they are a mess
Getting around is always my biggest obstacle, the thing I fear most presently. But I did it. I made my way from the airport to Brooklyn thanks to a friendly Russian cab driver. We mostly spoke of the pains of attempting to immigrate, him to the States, myself to the UK. Then I was cold and alone, sitting on the stoop of a Chinese neighborhood, unable to get into Chandra's building because the keys were not to be found. My delayed flight had messed up our arrangements. However, Melanie from downstairs let me in, and I was warm and grateful. The next day I took five wrong trains in a row. But by Thursday I knew where I needed to go and how to get there. When I emerged from the subway to Times Square, it began to snow. I called my sisters and told them I was thinking about them.
I know you've supported me for a long time, somehow I'm not impressed
I saw a man vomit into his backpack late at night on the subway. I also had a terrible tarot reading from a woman in the East Village, but mostly I felt bad for her. It was crowded and dirty and quite often smelly. I figured out how to blend in by not making eye contact and frowning.
But New York cares
Yet I never managed to frown for long. It was, after all, New York. Everything about it was deliciously New York. I danced in the American Museum of Natural History on my way to the mythological creatures exhibit, and I almost teared up when I saw the life-sized unicorn looking down at me. I gazed into her glassy eyes for what seemed like ages. On Friday I was on my way to the Met, but I ended up walking around in the East Village for hours. I ate a perfect cupcake from Magnolia, the most delicious one I've ever eaten in my life, and once again, it began to snow as I sat on my park bench. People who say they love New York must live in the East Village. And though I've seen it all before as a child, hearing 'NYC' randomly on my iPod as I walked toward the Empire State Building took my breath away. The tree at Rockefeller Plaza was so bright that I didn't even mind the crowds.
(Got to get some more change in my life)
One of the very best parts of my trip was seeing old friends. Sarah and I looked at the festive Macy's windows Thursday evening, then went back to her apartment and literally talked for hours. I love her so much. When we meet it's like it always was, no matter how much time has passed. Chandra was the perfect host all week, and it's always such a delight to hang out with her. We spent all day Sunday in our pajamas watching films and eating cookies and vegetarian toad-in-the-hole. The new friends I made were wonderful, too. Nyssa has the best collection of hats I've ever seen, Sir William runs one of the best websites I've ever visited, and of course, my darlings Joseph and Joey provided some of the most sparkling conversation I've ever had in a goth club. I miss them already, and that's quite a feat as I only met them once! Then there was the bartender with the sleeve tattoos who kept buying me drinks...Jareth, maybe? He kissed my hand at the end of the night. I just gave him my best, 'Thanks, you're a dear, but I'll probably never see you again' smile. Saturday night it was two different goth clubs, getting frisked at the cyber night first, then dancing on a stage at the trad night second, with videos of Skeletal Family and Corpus Delicti projected on the wall behind me. Overall I like the music at UK goth clubs better, though the people were marvelously friendly, especially at Necromantic on Friday. I have since decided that I simply must experience goth clubs wherever I travel. There was a moment on Friday when I was out on the floor dancing, either to Depeche Mode or Flock of Seagulls, and I smelled Devon, a smell that was smokey and sweet like incense and letters, and I was sublimely happy. I felt at home, in the best possible sense of the word.
It is up to me now, turn on the bright lights
And now here I am, back at the beginning, where I always seem to end up. Despite Joseph's admonitions that I should move to New York, I don't think that I will, not now, and probably not later. I suppose one thing that I had to see for myself on this trip was whether I made the right decision all those years ago. Every time that I moved, from Boston to Asheville to Lexington to the UK, all those chances to move to NYC, I had to see if I was wrong to not move straight up there. And while I adored it, and the city fills my heart with a dirty, vibrant, and thoroughly American kind of love, I don't think I've been wrong. I don't feel that I somehow missed my calling. What I'm searching for isn't necessarily in New York, though I could see having a lot of fun living up there while I'm still on the hunt. I felt at home, at least almost as much as I ever do anywhere else, but not that it was my home. Being there was brilliant, but leaving did not tear my heart asunder. And now that I've conquered New York, both my greatest fear and my greatest dream, I honestly feel as though I could now conquer anywhere in the world, anywhere of my choosing.
Oh it is up to me now, turn on the bright lights
However...in being here again, something of a melancholy wanderlust has taken over. I'm lonely but I want to be alone. I look around and see no one that I want to help cure my loneliness. I'm getting the urge to run again, to tear it all down and start from scratch. Why, I don't know. I have great friends and a life waiting for me back in England. I have the sorts of things that I've always wanted. And yet, the fresh start calls to me again. I long to be where I am new and no one knows my name. I'm longing to be someone else, a combination of the people I've been before and the person I always hoped I would be. The discontented feeling has been creeping over my body subtly until, evading my notice, it has manifested itself into a gloomy outlook and physical lethargy. The simplest tasks seem daunting, the most minuscule of details weigh upon my mind. I long to be away from everything I've ever known. I long for a freedom I've never felt, and in reality would probably never want to feel, because I love my bits and bobs, my worldly trappings, and of course my complex relationships with the humans in my life. Sometimes the beauty of this life overwhelms me to the point of tears, and as soon as I feel alone I can turn my head ever so slightly to the left and feel so much incredible love. What frustrates me most is never being able to hold onto anything, be it the beauty I see or the love I feel. I miss the things I've lost and I miss the things that aren't even gone yet because I can feel the echo of what my life might be like without them. I feel like everyone is dying or together in some way that always leaves me on the outside of everything. But I don't even want to be on the inside! I don't know what I want. I just know what I don't want. And I know that I grow sick of even thinking about my name on others' lips. As Stabbing Westward so succinctly puts it, 'If I must be lonely, I think I'd rather be alone.' I feel so much guilt at the thought of leaving everyone I know behind, but so much sadness at the irrevocable patterns in my life that I just can't seem to shake. I'm so tired, so so tired of it all. And I'm so tired of being positive and optimistic and hopeful. Twenty-eight years of hope, and I feel like I'm always let down. I want to be fresh and new again. I want to break down everything that I've ever not liked about myself and recreate the person I know I can be. I know she's in there somewhere. Sometimes she's still a stranger to me, but she's there, and not seeing her more often frustrates me. I am not what you think I am. I am not what anyone thinks I am. I am not a loving daughter, I am not a supportive friend. I am not a friendly face. I am cold, and I am alone, and I am so tired of feeling this way and more so of hiding it. Don't count on me, because though I'd love to be there for you, I'll only let you down. How can it be any other way, when I'm not only feeling let down by everyone else, but also let down by myself?
I want to be new. I want to be loved. I want to feel love and beauty surging through me, and I don't want to scrabble about desperately trying to hold onto it. I want to let it flow through me, and I want to be able to let go of the ridiculous things that weigh me down and just float. I want to stop worrying. I want to be so free that you won't even see me, that's how far in the sky I'll be flying. There is something there, and I know I can feel it, and it's always just out of my reach. But I'm no longer content with that just-around-the-corner feeling. I want to reach out and touch it. Then I want to hold onto it always.
If anyone is actually still reading this, know that this is not a cry for help. It's just a cry. It's me screaming into the infinite abyss, my loud barbaric YAWP. It's me trying my best to make sense of everything and taking control of my own life. It is up to me, now, to turn on the bright lights. What that entails, well, I'll do my best to keep you posted. If I manage to figure anything out I'll certainly not be so selfish as to keep it to myself. It's the least I can do, after all.