I watched as it tipped over, as it rolled.

I watched the syrupy orange liquid create geometric patterns across the train floor. Everyone did, drawn to the sticky chaos as it helplessly looped itself in spirals. New Yorkers on public transport don’t look up from their phones for anything, but they looked up for this. I don’t know why it was so beautiful. So mesmerizing. Like watching someone squeeze an entire tube of toothpaste out or pour a gallon of milk onto the kitchen floor. Things we can do, but don’t. They turn themselves into some kind of art.

I don’t know why people litter either. She left her can of soda at her feet on that train car with all of us and we witnessed the end of it in ways she never would. I watched as each person stepped carefully over and around the syrupy streams, each one sharing a piece of humanity with the other. No one wants sticky shoes. This city leaves enough of itself on you without the added adhesive.

I crossed the river of high fructose corn syrup and climbed up and out of that underground world. You’re whirling through labyrinthian tunnels one moment, feeling your body relinquish all autonomy to the jerky sway of the train car. You’re swimming through streams of orange soda. You’re releasing your grip from the handlebars for a moment, riding the train like you used to ride your skateboard in California. One for the other, one for another. And then you’re standing on the sidewalk, staring at the Manhattan skyline, watching as the world comes out of hibernation.

OBSERVING HUMANITY

I spent the warm, sunny day sitting on the water with Vonnegut open in my hands. I always have every intention of reading, but find my eyes forever wandering to my surroundings. This is what they saw. Two screaming babies, twins, their cries synced in perfect harmony, and one lethally exhausted looking father pushing the stroller. I laughed because each baby had the tiniest pair of sunglasses on their screaming faces. They reminded of photos of me as a child, always dressed to the nines by my mother, but crying. After them, and this is a personal favorite of mine for it never ceases to entertain, two women friends speed walking while gossiping. I managed to make out that one was very peeved at someone for not inviting them to something. And can you even believe? No, no I cannot even believe. Female friendship dynamics. Some things never change. I wish they did. Trailing behind them was a couple, the kind that are so linked at the hip and shoulder and mouth that it makes you want to be single forever. They kept stopping to take selfies of themselves kissing in front of city skyline. A real assault to the eyes. My fault for parking myself in front of a tourist attraction.

I sat there for a long time, watching, listening, thinking, before trekking up through the idyllic streets of Brooklyn Heights, picking out which charming townhouse I would want, as always. I wandered so far that I ended up at the coolest Trader Joe’s I have even seen. Upon prompt research, I discovered that the Florentine Renaissance building actually used to be a bank, and was only acquired by TJ’s in 2008. This city, I swear. I sent my family group chat photos with the caption, so this a grocery store.

MUNDANE ENDEAVORS

Gorgeous historical architecture aside, the thing about grocery shopping in New York is that you have to consciously estimate at how much you can carry on your long trek home without wanting to die, an estimate I routinely fail at. You come prepared with you canvas tote bags, strategically bagging them so as to distribute the weight evenly. You sling each over a shoulder and haul them through the city, up and down stairs, sweat pooling. It’s a full body workout just to go about your mundane existence in this place. But it’s fulfilling. You get home, drop your bags, scrub the city off your hands, and feel pretty good about things.

I call my mom, my mom who is the visual manifestation of a bottle of carbonated water that has been shaken and opened too soon, for her and my dad are coming to visit next week. It was important to me to fly here and settle in by myself, so they haven’t seen me since about 5am at the San Diego airport, over three months ago. She keeps telling me how tightly she is going to hug me and I’m slightly terrified.

My brother’s partner recently got into Yale’s graduate program and he is moving with her to to Connecticut. Meaning, both of us on the east coast. Meaning, during our FaceTime call, my mother was actively framing photos of my brother and me, saying she is going full grandma and hanging them all around the house like shrines.

I’m sure that’s fine.

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