Untitled (I)

The flight went smoothly according to most passengers and myself as well. Entertained by Natasha Bedingfield's "Take Me Away", I tried to tune into the state of mind of a regular traveler. I was so self-conscious that it almost hurt. My palms caught a slight film of sweat that I tried to do away with using the complimentary towelette I was offered. It was my first flight and my heart pounded with excitement at the thought that at the end of this trip New York will be there to say "hello". There's always something emotional about firsts. Excitement and nervousness dwelled inside of me in a strange mix, topped with the youthful confidence that I will make it all right in the big city. It was around four o'clock int he afternoon and I must have been flying for at least ten hours now. Outside the window, the island grow bigger and bigger like a fast-replicating cell. As we were approaching the land, a lead-cold ball was forming inside my stomach. I looked down through the window and it looked as if the largest map I've ever seen was stretched out  like a living giant in front of my eyes.  The view was majestic. When the landing began, the lead ball seemed to get bigger inside of me, but I somehow felt both relieved and anxious. Eyes closed, I told myself that I had to remember this moment because it was a first. So I tried to heighten the intensity of the moment by allowing every small bent, creak and gentle downward swing to slip into the cracks of my memory. I was into the habit of tucking in certain memories like you tuck a baby to sleep, letting them nestle comfortably enough to preserve a certain layer of security. Of course, the process is selective and subject to whimsicality, but that's precisely what sets it apart from other memory functions. 

Once landed, I went through the usual formalities of customs and picked up my baggage. I thought it all went well and that I was finding my way pretty well until the thought of being alone in the big city stared me in the eye with a cold insistence. I looked around and saw groups of people talking. I passed them by and I overheard someone say "Delaware". That's where I was going too. The next thing I know, I was riding a cab to Manhattan with a rattling Polish lady and a Canadian boy. The lady had come to America to help her daughter out with her new-born baby. She was doing a wonderful display of that Slavic quick temper when things would go against her desire. At that point, that's precisely where they were going. She had little reserve in displaying her dislike for America; and for her daughter's scandalous decision to live in the country aforementioned. This discontent seemed to build up as she mentioned her daughter's marriage to a Portuguese. Somehow, the Portuguese thing seemed to set her off even more. The Canadian boy and I were just listening. He must have been twenty-four or twenty-five, with soft, almost feminine features, accentuated by a fine pair of glasses that gave him a weirdly sweet nerdy air. He started chatting with the cab driver. There was something soothing and charming about the way he let words come out of his mouth that stood out against the Polish lady's coarse mannerism. In the meantime, I kept quiet and enjoyed the moment, trying to absorb the novelty of the scenery through every pore of my skin. The black leather of the cab seats kept us still in a hot clasp that merged with the clammy Manhattan air. In the distance, the big city lurked growing bigger, like an approaching beehive teeming with life. We crossed a wide bridge bordered by perfectly parallel yellow slender tubes hovering over our heads as if someone had fast-forwarded a silent motion picture. New York loved yellow and speed; not particularly in this order, but the feeling was there. The engine stopped, interrupting my late afternoon daydreaming. I was out of the cab, onto the sidewalk with the Canadian boy. The noisy Polish lady had already met her daughter and off she went. She parted with us leaving behind a sharp "Goodbye!".

The heart of Manhattan. I looked around and I couldn't help feeling small against that crowded conglomerate of tall buildings and the hallucinating buzz it oozed. New York had an impressive capacity of captivating you with the sharpness of the present moment that I must confess, was fairly new to me. Suddenly, the skyscrapers' windows were myriads of eyes casting a scrutinizing gaze over every move I made, but most importantly, every thought I let slip through my mind. I secretly hoped Big Brother wasn't watching.