home, for now
Home again, home again.
I arrived in Montreal right after a Christmas spent in the Adirondack mountains. I ended my work at UN Women on December 17th, grateful and in awe of this challenging, stimulating, dream of an experience. That morning, I went to Blue Bottle Coffee on 42nd, as I had the morning of June 17th - my first day at the UN. This felt like a precious way to bookend this momentous season of my life. There, I spent time with my thoughts (of gratitude and of grief), nurturing them for a time and giving them vital space to breathe. I then made my way to the office under dark grey skies, cold December rain obscuring the view. In many ways, my internship - as expected!- disillusioned me about the field I am in (namely, the reality of bureaucracy and politics and the many, many, many ways they inform development policy and programs). But in many other ways, this experience sparked hope as I worked alongside development practitioners who deeply care about supporting civil society organizations in the Global South, who want to see social innovation and behavioral sciences inform projects, and who are true advocates of gender equality.
You could say I was tongue-tied for the extent of December. Clothed in fir forests, garlands wrapped around wrought iron fences, brick buildings festooned with glowy white lights, pavement dusted with snow (albeit far too little for my taste!)... New York takes on a wholly different complexion come Christmastime -perhaps my favorite of all.
I spent my last week in New York City, city of dreams, with my sister -whose last exam coincided with the last day of my internship. We filled our days fulfilling the remaining "to do in New York" checklist items. We breakfasted on cinnamon and sticky buns at Balthazar, drank coffee and read with lavender lattes and chai at Urban Backyard, roamed the streets of Soho and gaped at the Christmas decorations at Sezane's, found books at Housing Works, lunched at Freemans (a modern twist on a colonial tavern, tucked in a quiet alleyway, with the yummiest food to share), Nutella and dulce de leche waffles in the Bryant Park Christmas village.
On a cold Friday night, off to Tavern on the Green we went, where we whistled along to live jazz and sipped old fashioned eggnog with spiced rum (for moi) and hot chocolate with wondermint (for her), and filled ourselves of French onion soup before heading to the ballet at Lincoln Center. There, we witnessed the New York City Ballet's performance of the Nutcracker, just a few nights before Christmas. It was such a gift to watch the ballet with my very favorite ballerina, my kid sister, who recognized the principal dancers and explained the intricacies of the pas de deux and the waltz of the snowflakes (which, admittedly, took my breath away).
On the day of the winter solstice, we brunched at Sunday in Brooklyn and explored the borough: Sey Coffee and Kávé for bountiful cups of joe, donuts (French toast, blueberry almond, eggnog) at Dun-Well Doughnuts Salter House to poke around the loveliest sustainable products, Books Are Magic for some Christmas presents, and pizza at Dellarocco's- with its garlands and soft music and twinkling lights.
For Advent, we lifted our voice in song with my church family (which I'll miss so, so dearly), and our eyes welled up with tears as we sang "Oh Holy Night" (as they always do). We walked 'round the West Village, in weather which is unusually warm for late December - and enjoyed foamy lattes, eggs and soliders, hummus and flatbread at Fairfax for a very last New York brunch. We finished our Christmas shopping at Chelsea Market, and cradled cups of hot chocolate at café window seats, marveling at "city sidewalks dressed in holiday style." Our last night, we feasted over burritos and sangria and the richest conversation (because that's what sisters do) and sat quietly by the glowy Christmas tree in Washington Square (because, that's also what sisters do).
Of course, my last week in New York was also filled with late-night packing, filling boxes upon boxes with my life. And goodbyes (so. many. heart-wrenching. goodbyes). On the morning of my move, we woke early to a cerulean blue December sky and crisp winter air. We ran to Little Italy, just a few blocks East of my apartment, for a last hurrah, with Italian pastries and cappuccinos dusted with cinnamon. I took it all in as I made my last round around the Bronx, whispering thank yous for the gift of this neighborhood-turned-home - weathered brick, cheery business owners, wrought iron fences, latin music spilling out of windows.
Before long, mom and dad arrived, and we sifted through my belongings and piled boxes and suitcases aplenty into the car - just like we had just six months earlier on my way here. Before I walked out of the apartment, I stood before my room - emptied of my trinkets, with bare walls and a soft echo. I saw myself, having arrived in the Bronx not too long ago on that cloudy day in June. I was fearful and unsure (of myself, of this place), but soon it would make its way to a tender place in my heart. This was my first home away from home, where I became accustomed to cooking, paying rent and the mundane responsibilities involved in homemaking. It taught me much about incarnational ministry and uncomfortable hospitality, and became a safe haven after lonely or busy days. It was a space where I learned about racial justice and made friends with unexpected people. I knew, as I walked away from it, that I would miss it.
We piled into the car and drove northward, and I said my goodbyes to New York City which became fainter and fainter in the distance. We drove and drove and I held back the tears -of sadness, of gratefulness, of awe, who's to say. We passed Albany and, later, drove into the Adirondack mountains, through a locality referred to by its inhabitants as a "hamlet" (how quaint) and deep within the woods, where we cloistered into a wooden cottage for a sweet and slow Christmas, just we four. We spent days reading in a reading nook and puzzling by a crackling fire, listening to the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir or The Oh Hellos or Charlie Brown's Christmas, eating gingerbread and butter cookies, cutting down an improvised Christmas tree, bundling up for slow walks around a lake, sharing stories around the table, and watching beloved holiday movies as candles burnt to the coal. There was a canopy of stars and endless pine out the window, the smell and sound of mom's mulled cider simmering on the stove, and the sight of wrapped presents around the hearth. Ella's voice lulled us into the most tranquil night of yule, of yet. We exchanged gifts on Christmas morn (something to read, something needed, something wanted) and feasted over creamy coffee with a splash of eggnog, sweet grapefruit, white chocolate and cranberry scones, and our favorite pastries from Montréal. We basked in togetherness, and rejoiced in the coming of our Savior, remembering that first Christmas when love came down. Time stood still in that wooden cottage - and this was just what my heart, fraught with many conflicting emotions, needed. I began to process all that the past six months were, and what they meant to me. This continued as we packed up our unwrapped gifts and belongings and drove further North, all the way to the border where I bid farewell to New York state and arrived home in Montréal. I am here, for now, until I answer the siren call for life in Vancouver with Paul, in just a few weeks. This is an interlude in my life, of sorts -the crossroads between two important seasons, and the meeting point of an important "before" and "after."
Today, two weeks having passed since the move, I still can't truly convey what living in New York City represented to a girl like me, who dreamt of this since childhood. I can't, concisely, tell you how it shaped me, changed me and stretched me beyond belief. Words would fail to describe the spots that became sacred to me, the exhilaration I felt as I walked the streets of Manhattan, the people I met there whose heartbeats matched mine, and whose friendships mean the world. And I wouldn't dare try to explain why, umpteen times, I thought to myself, I could take my very last breath in this place. I can't explain it all, and perhaps that's what makes New York City so mysterious and magical - her allure and her magnetism are, after all, indescribable.
Not long ago, however, I read an article about New York being a place where you lose yourself and become yourself- and I couldn't phrase it any better. I was recurrently brought to the end of myself there, yet I undoubtedly did an important part of my becoming in that gift of a city. She's a humbling mirror, a financial hemorrhage, and she can break your heart. But in the same vein, she brims with resilience and endless verve, ever beckoning you to savor a little more, and stay a little longer.
Oh, New York, my city of dreams: so long dear friend, I do hope we meet again.
I arrived in Montreal right after a Christmas spent in the Adirondack mountains. I ended my work at UN Women on December 17th, grateful and in awe of this challenging, stimulating, dream of an experience. That morning, I went to Blue Bottle Coffee on 42nd, as I had the morning of June 17th - my first day at the UN. This felt like a precious way to bookend this momentous season of my life. There, I spent time with my thoughts (of gratitude and of grief), nurturing them for a time and giving them vital space to breathe. I then made my way to the office under dark grey skies, cold December rain obscuring the view. In many ways, my internship - as expected!- disillusioned me about the field I am in (namely, the reality of bureaucracy and politics and the many, many, many ways they inform development policy and programs). But in many other ways, this experience sparked hope as I worked alongside development practitioners who deeply care about supporting civil society organizations in the Global South, who want to see social innovation and behavioral sciences inform projects, and who are true advocates of gender equality.
You could say I was tongue-tied for the extent of December. Clothed in fir forests, garlands wrapped around wrought iron fences, brick buildings festooned with glowy white lights, pavement dusted with snow (albeit far too little for my taste!)... New York takes on a wholly different complexion come Christmastime -perhaps my favorite of all.
We piled into the car and drove northward, and I said my goodbyes to New York City which became fainter and fainter in the distance. We drove and drove and I held back the tears -of sadness, of gratefulness, of awe, who's to say. We passed Albany and, later, drove into the Adirondack mountains, through a locality referred to by its inhabitants as a "hamlet" (how quaint) and deep within the woods, where we cloistered into a wooden cottage for a sweet and slow Christmas, just we four. We spent days reading in a reading nook and puzzling by a crackling fire, listening to the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir or The Oh Hellos or Charlie Brown's Christmas, eating gingerbread and butter cookies, cutting down an improvised Christmas tree, bundling up for slow walks around a lake, sharing stories around the table, and watching beloved holiday movies as candles burnt to the coal. There was a canopy of stars and endless pine out the window, the smell and sound of mom's mulled cider simmering on the stove, and the sight of wrapped presents around the hearth. Ella's voice lulled us into the most tranquil night of yule, of yet. We exchanged gifts on Christmas morn (something to read, something needed, something wanted) and feasted over creamy coffee with a splash of eggnog, sweet grapefruit, white chocolate and cranberry scones, and our favorite pastries from Montréal. We basked in togetherness, and rejoiced in the coming of our Savior, remembering that first Christmas when love came down. Time stood still in that wooden cottage - and this was just what my heart, fraught with many conflicting emotions, needed. I began to process all that the past six months were, and what they meant to me. This continued as we packed up our unwrapped gifts and belongings and drove further North, all the way to the border where I bid farewell to New York state and arrived home in Montréal. I am here, for now, until I answer the siren call for life in Vancouver with Paul, in just a few weeks. This is an interlude in my life, of sorts -the crossroads between two important seasons, and the meeting point of an important "before" and "after."
Not long ago, however, I read an article about New York being a place where you lose yourself and become yourself- and I couldn't phrase it any better. I was recurrently brought to the end of myself there, yet I undoubtedly did an important part of my becoming in that gift of a city. She's a humbling mirror, a financial hemorrhage, and she can break your heart. But in the same vein, she brims with resilience and endless verve, ever beckoning you to savor a little more, and stay a little longer.
Oh, New York, my city of dreams: so long dear friend, I do hope we meet again.
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