The night before I went out one last time with the cast members of the UMO movement piece "Final Broadcast." I was a completely bald headed college graduate who had decided we was bored of Seattle and wanted to visit New York City for the first time ever... so I had bought a round trip ticket to be out in the NYC for a week and a half. I also travelled with the idea that I wasn't going to be coming back. I sat in the Chinese resteraunt with my cast, I sang REM on the Karaoke machine, my friend Lyam was the first person I've ever seen sing a nine inch nails song at a karaoke bar, I ate and was completely satisfied. It was a good last night in Seattle.
At 6 in the morning I woke up, went to the airport, boarded the plane and flew all the way out to JFK airport. I rode the subway for the first time, very confused that there were no zones and cost variations, and transfered three times in an effort to make it down to Bay Ridge Brooklyn. I was scared shitless. But I shouldn't have been. I was in Bay Ridge for God's sake.
It was muggy and warm. The subway smelled funny, I was carrying three bags. I met up with my friend Rohan half way to his apartment, we walked the rest of the way back to his place, did the four story walk up, dropped everything down to the ground and sat on the couch which was to serve as my bed.
I was in New York. And it was pretty great.
We got pizza... I went up to SoHo to meet another friend for a drink, and I rode the R-train back to bay ridge. I was reading "Remains of the Day," the story of the butler trying to find the woman he loved.
I left Seattle to escape my childhood. To escape the girl that got away. To escape my old life.
I wanted to engross myself in a city. I wanted to be apart of a city that was bigger than me. New York was that.
It's been two years, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
