"I wanna move to New York, I wanna move to New York, I wanna move to New York."
That was the leitmotiv since I was sixteen. My sweet sixteen, age of limitless dreams and wide expectations. And I did it. I went through all sort of paper-based wars and CV mailed back to finally find myself totally displaced in the beating heart of the world. New York represented to me the highest point of a picaresque adolescence dressed with travels and projects, art and law (trust me, I am a lawyer) and one big fat idea on my mind. I will make it all the way to the Big Apple, no matter what.
22 months of never-ending daydreaming. Waking up with the pulsation of the American Dream flowing in my veins and the fullness of New York City overwhelming my eyes and mind of everything imaginable: voices, places, coffees, concerts, yellow cabs, white collars, schedules, way-too-many-singles-in-my-pocket, shoes, haircuts, nightmares, chuckles, ideas, upset bosses, unfinished novels, bridges, cigarettes, friends, and energy; the energy of eight million souls bouncing inside of me. Me, Myself, and I living The Dream.
My roots tried hard to settle in that crude and magical dimension with no results and then one day, with no official announcement, I converted into a real wannabe. It cost me several thousands of dollars, nights spent weeping loud in the loneliness of my empty queen-size bed, four jobs at a time, a couple of dashes to the closest hospital and crushes on beautiful strangers and, of course, billions of unforgettable moments. “I made my way through the dark,” I pondered. “I let New York conquer me. It is time to fly away.” And that’s exactly what I did. I pointed randomly at the world map hanging over my undone bed in my shiny apartment, towering over the craziness of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY. The Strokes were playing over and over again.
“I swear one day I'm going to leave this town.
Stop.
Yes I'm leaving.
’Cause it just won't work.
They act like Romans, but they dress like Turks.”
Barcelona was chosen for the following reasonable causes: weather, seaside, lifestyle, energy, and colours. I jumped on that flight, light-hearted, not totally realizing what I was leaving behind. What sort of misadventures I had chosen to fight against, how many sushi places I would miss, how much energy I would waste to adapt my rushing wannabe-spirit to the lazy rhythm that spots European cities. Because no matter what you choose after New York City, you will never feel “that alive” again.
I was received with open arms by a sunny and springish Barcelona, filled with tourists and noises, Hola and Hasta luego, smiles and flip flops, beach parties and unpaved routes, easy schedule and low budget, ridiculous rent and a 101-crooked-stair nightmare to make it home. I felt renewed. Nietzsche, my East Village-rooted-cat, stared at me with disappointment. “Where is home?” he seemed to wonder. And he was right. Where is 5th Avenue? Where is Sushi Samba? Where did I leave my favourite organic store? And the enchantment of my Manhattan-oriented roof? My 70-hour weekly agenda and my treasured 1BR apartment, whose rent would correspond here to a duplex in the very heart of the city?
“Where am I?”
“The Old Continent”, a voice-over whispered.
New York was gone and all I could think of were the lyrics of a song, playing loud in my confused mind, desperately trying to adapt its 360º shape to the new corners and boundaries imposed by Barcelona and its millenary traditions.
“And I look outside to see what’s going on
But there’s only New York going on
Louder than usual
And I look outside to see what’s right or wrong
But there’s only New York going on
And I can’t say it’s fun.”
It took me three months to comprehend what I left behind. Three months of life and snuffle and laughter and Ramblas and perritos calientes and metros closing at 12 AM, and lack of services and where the f*@k is my deli open 24/7 and New York is still there casting spells and I miss it, and I have to stop thinking about it and why my passport does not have an I-94 stuck on it anymore?
It wasn’t painless, not at all. After having snorted New York each morning for approximately six hundred and sixty days with no break, I chose to give up the habit going cold turkey. And, not failing to play the drug-withdrawal-crisis-role, I found myself longing for its dreadful aroma and smoky morning shades. I want to feel high once more, where is my drug dealer?
And then, one smiley morning, the bus came and I stepped in, as usual, with my meaningless hurrying attitude. I took a seat and let my drained head lean on the window, eyes pointing somewhere over the rainbow, loud music in my ears.
“And you may ask yourself: Well... How did I get here?
And you may ask yourself Am I right? Am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
MY GOD! WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Once in a lifetime…”
And unexpectedly my eyes leapt back into reality and examined the actual landscape. Joyful people holding hands, kisses in the middle of the street, employees smoking leisurely out of their offices, tourists going after their bursting cameras, leashless dogs and owners with no plastic bag to pick up their crap, and me laughing out loud, for the first time since my transoceanic relocation. I found myself surrounded by architectural miracles: listed buildings flourishing out of the blue with their mosaic works and harmonic shapes, pastel colours and all-metal flower decorations, entire blocks respecting the No-Corner rule imposed by Gaudí and his successors, everything mixed with a cosmopolitan and crystallized touch and all that splendour filled my soul with an unpredicted and retrieved sensation.
No matter how hard I try, New York won’t leave me alone. Never. It will keep encroaching on my mood and balance, bringing back its unforgettable loudness and addictive energy, projecting on my 16:9 flat screen with Dolby Surround images of our love. It has been love, while it lasted. But now it’s over, and I was the one taking the decision.
New York is the Golden Cage filled with eight million people, dreamy lives, the rose always in blossom that sparkles in the dark, El Todo y La Nada without middle ways, the idea of having it all and the fact of losing ‘till the last dime, the breathless races and the insane passions, the paper-based struggle and the tipsy walk back home. Life with no discount, the priceless ticket to heaven, and the open day to hell. And I packed my bag filling it with my potential-prize-winning novel, a wallet with way-too-many-singles, a real New Yorker cat, a closet full of silk and my soul jam-packed with lived life.
Back to basics. Life is a journey, right? And I am a real traveller. Europe is the wildest challenge, the land of middle ways where nothing is clear and everything is out of doubt, and I chose to fly in the face of my destiny and come back to the original root, to prove to myself that there is no place like the home you hold inside.
Someone said that “when you leave New York, you ain’t going nowhere” and I do agree. Don’t try to find any comparison or similarity elsewhere. After leaving that 5-neighbourhooded planet, the best I could do was to find myself and recognize what I collected while penetrating its undiscovered corners. Because I firmly believe that New York is an on-going hunt for your own fortune and once you find it, the best you can do is to steal it without leaving fingerprints and kiss it goodbye.
Now I store my finally-found treasure on a shelf of my heart, I walk with New York next to me every single morning, I dream of fine dining sushi while enjoying my oily tortilla, I respect the line while fighting with the foxy lawbreaker of the day, I light a cigarette sitting at my favourite restaurant with the feeling of committing a deadly sin, I walk way too fast in the middle of languid crowds, I wear short-sleeved t-shirts in mid-February and smile at strangers while sipping a short espresso with no rush.
I go food-shopping in the quarter market and amass veggies and fruit in a huge straw basket, enjoy the view of the horizon, and smirk at the sea… That same endless sea that drenched my feet once in a lifetime, while I was living my full-sized vision in New York City.
And, since I made it there, I can make it anywhere.
