I returned from New York City on Sunday, and went straight to school the next morning to endure a packed week of play rehearsals, art classes, tests and various other time-consuming activities of higher education. With not even a day to recover from the jet lag and reflect on my week in New York, it all feels like a wonderful dream.
We spent our days in art galleries and wandering the city streets. Most of the time I was in awe that I had made it back to a place I had idolised in my head for the last three years, and couldn't contain my delight, offering my peers golden insights, such as 'I LOVE THIS TOWN!'
It was different to how I remembered it, but magical in an entirely new way. I saw revolutionary works of art, ones I never fully appreciated on a screen or in pages of a textbook. I met amazing people, each with their own charming New York story to tell. I spent an evening at a ritzy gentlemen's club on the Upper East Side, mingling with people each with a different claim to success, and the next on the floor of the YMCA eating Chinese Food without any cutlery, crying with laughter - both were unforgettable.
The thing I loved most of all, was that I felt so at home. I felt comfortable among the masses of people pacing down the streets with purpose and intolerance. I felt untroubled waking up to the view of the towering glass buildings each morning. I was content.
When we got in the car to leave for the airport, I told myself it was time to go, it was good that I was leaving. I was tired after all, and New York is an intense place to be. Except as soon as I turned around to see the skyline getting further and further away in the distance, my heart broke. We're going the wrong way, I thought.
I miss it already, but I know I'll be back. I think of it now as a glimpse into my future.
