Writing about my New York City experiences became too overwhelming. With the combination of a lack of time and sensory overload, I decided to quit writing for the masses.
I suppose I could say that a friend of mine inspired me to start writing again (in a semi-ambiguous fashion). This friend is just as unequivocal as the re-birth of this blog. This friend I have yet to meet and his voice has only been heard by myself for about 30 seconds total. (You may ask how can you have a friend you have never met? I say, "Why not? It doesn't hurt anyone to have a friend.). Nonetheless, I asked him for advice (via QWERTY) like I have on several other occasions--getting insightful answers with each. This time it dealt with philosophy. I posed the question: Which philosopher should I read first? He replied indubitably: Nietzsche.
I first became interested in knowing more about the philosophers behind the words when my mom would slip quotes into my brown bag lunches. From there, I began to read more quotations, which then grew into bigger passages. Finally, I decided to start delving into the real thing. I started out with a smaller one--The Art of Loving by Erich Fromm (easy read, so I read it twice--in two parts of my life). It was taking too long for the Nietzsche book to be shipped to the Harlem branch the block over from me, so this evening, I made the trek to the NY Public Library. I ended up in the Schwarzman building near 42nd. This library is the library of all libraries. Tourists were everywhere, and it didn't feel like anything more than a museum till I walked up 2 flights of marble steps. I felt like the odd one out with library card in hand rather than cam-corder. Frescoes were covering every wall and statues of writers in every corner. I soaked it all in and told myself that if I do end up making it into a law school in NYC, I will gladly study in the stacks of this mansion of a library. Sadly, my book wasn't waiting for me in this library. The branch it was shelved at was 1 block down (obviously, NYC loves it's libraries like it loves it's Starbucks). I left the white marble palace of books, the big lion statues guarding the wealth of knowledge inside and the tourists snapping pictures left and right.
A block down, I came to the Mid-Manhattan branch. I began to open up my purse for the lady handing out bags for wet umbrellas but stopped midway; realizing gazing into personal belongings was only procedure for the Schwarzman building. This building looked much more like a library. There was a line at the checkout and books came into view right away. Here were the people who actually lived and breathed NY. Two libraries, two different worlds and only a block away. I have come to realize that theme carries through to many aspects of NYC (2 neighborhoods: Harlem and Upper East Side, which are for me, one subway stop away. Each a world of difference).
Human, All Too Human in hand, I sat on the bus and began to read-- forgetting about my weakness of getting car-sick. I stopped reading when the nausea started to set in and flipped through the 395 pages. I came upon a maxim that caught my eye:
Pleasure tourists.- They climb the hill like animals, stupid and perspiring; no one has told them there are beautiful views on the way.
And with this, the pressure to write erupted. So, that I did.
The itch was scratched. I plan on writing occasionally for all to see when my appetite strikes again. I prefer to write about snippets of my life in NYC that I find interesting or meaningful rather than generalize every little thing that I do.
So here's to my new beginning.
-Stella
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