New York 2023

I was fondly remembering the trip I took last summer with my sister to visit my brother in New York. The separate flights we took there were disastrous: she got stuck in another state overnight due to storms and weather, and I got harassed on the plane, but we persisted.

On the day my sister was stuck, my brother and I wandered the West Village. Between frantically rushing after him in his confident strides through the subway turnstiles and past exploded public garbage cans, we found our way to many bookstores, some iconic, and some smaller. Yes, I begged him to take me, but I hope he had a good time too. As we visited Hmart where we got a calamansi soda and took the arduous trip to Muji to stock up on gel pens, sweat dripped down my leg and my Doc Martens rubbed my calves raw.

Luckily, my sister and brother were both present for our trip to MoMA. We went to the Met the last time we came, so we decided we were due for a trip to the MoMA this time. After eating some overpriced Indonesian food at an Asian food court, we walked over and bought our discounted student tickets. I was shocked to find that I recognized some of the names in the descriptions of the art: bell hooks, Saint-Exupéry. I swapped shoes with my sister the morning of; she complained the entire day about how uncomfortable they were, but I knew she wouldn’t have offered if she didn’t want to help me.

I’ve never been a huge traveler. I don’t really understand the people who want to travel the world and visit every country in God knows where. I’m all for traveling with loved ones to create memories and new experiences, but travel in itself has never had a huge appeal for me. My boyfriend jokes that I’m like a hobbit from the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, content to sit in a comfy chair and read my books and enjoy the peace of being at home. But I’ll try anything once. So maybe there’s a balance to be struck between the two mindsets.

Feb. 22, 2024