on the (birthday) weekend
There are still so many New York days and weekends to write about -so many memories from this Summer I so desperately want to keep record of, and immortalize in this space -but I do realize there is a gift in bottling them up for me to keep. I am increasingly understanding that I must learn to hold certain things close, rather than feel the urgent need to broadcast them for all to see and read. Blogging and social media are a strange thing -and I recognize I ought to be more mindful about appreciating (savoring, even) life's moments as they unfold instead of disseminating them all. I think of my paternal grandfather, who shares vignettes of his youth in Palestine (swimming with friends in the Port of Haïfa, reciting the rosary on the balcony of his home, Summers in Egypt spent along the Nile, how he played the accordion by the window of his bedroom, hoping his musical ability might gain the attention of female students at the neighboring boarding school) -and I wonder, will I be able to remember such details? These memories of his are over eighty years old. Yet, he remembers with such precision, such fondness.
I worry that my generation's proclivity to record every moment might counterproductively prevent our minds from doing just that. So I ask myself: as I live through this season in New York, am I quick to take pictures of sights and attribute words to events but slow to fully relish them as they betide? It's an interesting dance for which my rhythm and pace are yet to be set. Writing here and posting images on Instagram do quench a creative hunger of mine. I know I will be thankful, in future years, to be able to come back to this place and relive things of the past. I know that, today, faraway friends and family of mine value the opportunity to get a glimpse into the marrow of my days. Thus, I am trying to discern what I deem significant to share and what is best kept to self or shared face to face, over cradled mugs and live conversation.
One weekend I very much want to write about -and which, admittedly, I have been asked to share on the blog!- was that of my 23rd birthday. For this special occasion, my sweet sister made her way to New York for a precious time of just her and me. Simply put, it was a glorious weekend brimming with much merriment and soul talks and wanderings. We walked blisters into our toes and laughed bruises into our ribs.
Well, airplanes being airplanes, she ultimately arrived nearly twenty-four hours later than planned - which was nearly heartbreaking given how little time we had together to begin with. Two flights were canceled and she had to hop on a bus in Vermont at two in the morning, but she eventually made it to Manhattan with tired eyes and a large grin. It was the sweetest thing to see her in the sights which have become familiar to me in New York. I was able to introduce her to my office and colleagues and, with that, we were off for a weekend of fun.
We talked and walked and talked and walked from 42nd street all the way to 9th street, stopping to ooh and aah at Gramercy brownstones and people-watch in various parks. We eventually made it to Davey's in the East Village, because ice cream for dinner sounded just right. So, it was raspberry matcha (her) and strong coffee (me) and off we were to Tompkins Square. We propped ourselves on a park bench, facing musicians who played everything from Hoagy Carmichael's Stardust and Dave Brubeck's Take Five. As we walked away, we made sure to listen to Tompkins Square Park by Mumford & Sons, because I knew the boy would highly chastise me for not doing so while in that very place (I was right: it was his first question when I recounted my day). Also: it was magic.
On our way to the subway at Union Square, we noticed a crowd gathered and taking pictures of the sunset, perfectly aligned between buildings. Only later did I find out this is a phenomenon called Manhattanhenge, or the Manhattan Solstice, wherein the sunset magnificently agrees with New York's street grid. I felt so very lucky to have been able to see this... on my birthday weekend, no least! It was a sight like no other, and we won't soon forget it. Walking on sunshine, indeed.
My birthday, July 13th, rolled in with promising blue skies and warmth that is both sticky yet sweet. Turning 23 in New York City... An incredible thought. To think I celebrated my 13th birthday in this very city a decade ago- telling my mama I dreamt of living here one day and work at the United Nations - well, it's a miracle of sorts. A lived prayer.
We made way to Brooklyn for a day dotted with long strolls, lively conversation, coffee-sipping, robust laughter, munching and exploring- just what I had hoped for. We first scouted Williamsburg, stopping for brunch at Cafe Mogador for Moroccan eggs with shakshuka, buttermilk pancakes, mint lemonade and tea. This spot has long been on my wishlist, and it utterly charmed us with its Moroccan cuisine, plant-filled conservatory (an indoor garden of dreams) and warm yet eclectic decor.
After topping off our breakfast with some lattes at Cafe Alula (and a lovely phone conversation with mom and dad, to boot!), we walked to East River State Park for a view of Manhattan, and then through Williamsburg to Greenpoint. Nestled in the northernmost corner in Brooklyn, Greenpoint is a haven of charm and trend. We loved exploring its boutiques and taking note of restaurants and coffee shops I ought to try. As you can tell, I found Laurianne's outfit and smile quite photogenic and snapped many pictures of her throughout the day (memories to keep).
Of course, when in Greenpoint, a trip to Bakeri is in order. Iced brews were sought, and we split the best darn cinnamon roll ever known to humankind. We cooled off from the sweltering heat and shared our hearts in this whimsical space - and I told myself that very little brings my heart such joy as lingering conversations over lingering coffees. We bid farewell to the charming and dainty spot with promises we'd be back, and off to the Brooklyn Bridge we went.
After a short stroll through the quiet streets of Brooklyn Heights (a feast of brownstores with generous windows, and tall trees and blooming gardens), we walked over to Dumbo and crossed the bridge (my first time ever!), taking in the glorious view of the city, whilst also reveling at the Gothic intricacies of the bridge itself.
We walked and walked through Nolita and Soho and the West Village, stopping here and there for a bookshop or decor store. I love such strolls.
Eventually, we hopped onto a bus (well, after Manhattan's massive power outage and blackout rendered our subway immobile- a historic moment... on my birthday!) and rode all the way up to the Upper West Side.
Next thing I knew, I was at Cafe Lalo blowing out candles on a slice of carrot cake and apple crumb to share. If you, too, are a Meg Ryan enthusiast, you'll understand a trip to Cafe Lalo to celebrate my birthday brought me utmost joy. The thought of her and Tom Hanks sitting "... at the table right over there" in You've Got Mail (heart sight) left me positively charmed and twitterpated.
That night, I fell asleep to the hum of the fan and the distant noise of the city- reliving in my mind these past 24 hours well spent celebrating 23 years which, I'd say, have gone pretty well.
Our last day together was a blur of more fun. Following church, we made way for a picnic in Central Park complete with baguette and olives and quinoa salad and some lemonade. We people watched, listened to music, chatted sweetly and grieved the imminent ending of our weekend together. We poked around the Upper West Side flea, rummaging through antique furniture and dusty vinyl records, leather-bound books and porcelain dolls. We later grabbed some iced coffee (me) and hibiscus tea (her) at Box Kite, and capped off our day and weekend together over bowls of ramen before heading to the station.
Tearful goodbyes were whispered in Port Authority before she boarded her bus back to Montreal, and I found myself heartbroken that our time seemingly slipped through our fingers like a wet bar of soap. We blinked, and this much anticipated weekend was over. I so wish we could have paused, slowed, extended, relived it. I guess that's the thing with time: the moment must pass for the beauty of the memory to become manifest.
Lau's visit, truly, was a well I have been drawing from for weeks. Empath, encourager, and confidante, my little sister will forever be my dearest friend -and times shared exclusively together (intentionally carved out, just so) will forever be cherished. Never, ever will I forget the weekend I turned 23 in New York City, with her by my side.
Nearly two months later, I say this:
I'm deeply thankful for this weekend (all that it was, all that it was not) and my sweet sister to share it with. I'm deeply thankful for the life which has unfolded since my first breath earthside. I'm deeply thankful for the gospel (my need for it, clearer and clearer every year). I'm deeply grateful for messages received on my birthday from my village, scattered here, there and everywhere. I'm deeply grateful for God's mighty (gentle) hand which weaves all parts together into a whole.
Thankful, thankful -my anthem.
I worry that my generation's proclivity to record every moment might counterproductively prevent our minds from doing just that. So I ask myself: as I live through this season in New York, am I quick to take pictures of sights and attribute words to events but slow to fully relish them as they betide? It's an interesting dance for which my rhythm and pace are yet to be set. Writing here and posting images on Instagram do quench a creative hunger of mine. I know I will be thankful, in future years, to be able to come back to this place and relive things of the past. I know that, today, faraway friends and family of mine value the opportunity to get a glimpse into the marrow of my days. Thus, I am trying to discern what I deem significant to share and what is best kept to self or shared face to face, over cradled mugs and live conversation.
One weekend I very much want to write about -and which, admittedly, I have been asked to share on the blog!- was that of my 23rd birthday. For this special occasion, my sweet sister made her way to New York for a precious time of just her and me. Simply put, it was a glorious weekend brimming with much merriment and soul talks and wanderings. We walked blisters into our toes and laughed bruises into our ribs.
Well, airplanes being airplanes, she ultimately arrived nearly twenty-four hours later than planned - which was nearly heartbreaking given how little time we had together to begin with. Two flights were canceled and she had to hop on a bus in Vermont at two in the morning, but she eventually made it to Manhattan with tired eyes and a large grin. It was the sweetest thing to see her in the sights which have become familiar to me in New York. I was able to introduce her to my office and colleagues and, with that, we were off for a weekend of fun.
We talked and walked and talked and walked from 42nd street all the way to 9th street, stopping to ooh and aah at Gramercy brownstones and people-watch in various parks. We eventually made it to Davey's in the East Village, because ice cream for dinner sounded just right. So, it was raspberry matcha (her) and strong coffee (me) and off we were to Tompkins Square. We propped ourselves on a park bench, facing musicians who played everything from Hoagy Carmichael's Stardust and Dave Brubeck's Take Five. As we walked away, we made sure to listen to Tompkins Square Park by Mumford & Sons, because I knew the boy would highly chastise me for not doing so while in that very place (I was right: it was his first question when I recounted my day). Also: it was magic.
On our way to the subway at Union Square, we noticed a crowd gathered and taking pictures of the sunset, perfectly aligned between buildings. Only later did I find out this is a phenomenon called Manhattanhenge, or the Manhattan Solstice, wherein the sunset magnificently agrees with New York's street grid. I felt so very lucky to have been able to see this... on my birthday weekend, no least! It was a sight like no other, and we won't soon forget it. Walking on sunshine, indeed.
My birthday, July 13th, rolled in with promising blue skies and warmth that is both sticky yet sweet. Turning 23 in New York City... An incredible thought. To think I celebrated my 13th birthday in this very city a decade ago- telling my mama I dreamt of living here one day and work at the United Nations - well, it's a miracle of sorts. A lived prayer.
We made way to Brooklyn for a day dotted with long strolls, lively conversation, coffee-sipping, robust laughter, munching and exploring- just what I had hoped for. We first scouted Williamsburg, stopping for brunch at Cafe Mogador for Moroccan eggs with shakshuka, buttermilk pancakes, mint lemonade and tea. This spot has long been on my wishlist, and it utterly charmed us with its Moroccan cuisine, plant-filled conservatory (an indoor garden of dreams) and warm yet eclectic decor.
After a short stroll through the quiet streets of Brooklyn Heights (a feast of brownstores with generous windows, and tall trees and blooming gardens), we walked over to Dumbo and crossed the bridge (my first time ever!), taking in the glorious view of the city, whilst also reveling at the Gothic intricacies of the bridge itself.
We walked and walked and agreed Lombardi's Pizza (America's first pizzeria) in Little Italy sounded just right for a New York City birthday. While I would argue it isn't the best in town (ahem... I have tried my fair share!), the restaurant dripped in quintessential New York Italian flair, with its coal ovens and checkered table cloths and winks at Napoli. Filled with vine ripe tomato bruschetta and a thin crust margherita pie, we deemed a good digestive would be a lengthy meander.
We walked and walked through Nolita and Soho and the West Village, stopping here and there for a bookshop or decor store. I love such strolls.
Eventually, we hopped onto a bus (well, after Manhattan's massive power outage and blackout rendered our subway immobile- a historic moment... on my birthday!) and rode all the way up to the Upper West Side.
Next thing I knew, I was at Cafe Lalo blowing out candles on a slice of carrot cake and apple crumb to share. If you, too, are a Meg Ryan enthusiast, you'll understand a trip to Cafe Lalo to celebrate my birthday brought me utmost joy. The thought of her and Tom Hanks sitting "... at the table right over there" in You've Got Mail (heart sight) left me positively charmed and twitterpated.
That night, I fell asleep to the hum of the fan and the distant noise of the city- reliving in my mind these past 24 hours well spent celebrating 23 years which, I'd say, have gone pretty well.
Our last day together was a blur of more fun. Following church, we made way for a picnic in Central Park complete with baguette and olives and quinoa salad and some lemonade. We people watched, listened to music, chatted sweetly and grieved the imminent ending of our weekend together. We poked around the Upper West Side flea, rummaging through antique furniture and dusty vinyl records, leather-bound books and porcelain dolls. We later grabbed some iced coffee (me) and hibiscus tea (her) at Box Kite, and capped off our day and weekend together over bowls of ramen before heading to the station.
Tearful goodbyes were whispered in Port Authority before she boarded her bus back to Montreal, and I found myself heartbroken that our time seemingly slipped through our fingers like a wet bar of soap. We blinked, and this much anticipated weekend was over. I so wish we could have paused, slowed, extended, relived it. I guess that's the thing with time: the moment must pass for the beauty of the memory to become manifest.
 |
| Smiling through tears. |
Nearly two months later, I say this:
I'm deeply thankful for this weekend (all that it was, all that it was not) and my sweet sister to share it with. I'm deeply thankful for the life which has unfolded since my first breath earthside. I'm deeply thankful for the gospel (my need for it, clearer and clearer every year). I'm deeply grateful for messages received on my birthday from my village, scattered here, there and everywhere. I'm deeply grateful for God's mighty (gentle) hand which weaves all parts together into a whole.
Thankful, thankful -my anthem.
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