Gaminishness...

It is a strange phenomenon to feel completely at home and a foreigner about the same place.
I find a certain solace walking around my neighborhood when striking up conversation with my bodega guy while playing with Bodega Kitty (Smokey), in knowing the usual routes so well (yet still manage to always trip over that same mangled slab of sidewalk), and having my secret favorite spot in Prospect Park.
I love when I spot familiar people on familiar routes or that dog walker dragging that ugly cocker spaniel around the same block. Listening to the morning banjo guy on the subway platform has its charms and peaking at my fellow commuter's book choices over time, attempting to figure out what kind of person they must be (I'd ask if it wasn't so much fun to imagine) is always amusing. I'm never bored, and if I find myself doing nothing in particular, even still I am quite content. 
I make acquaintances and some build into friendships, pr'aps while doing shots watching the Golden Globes at Plan B or after I'm stopped and scolded for walking around with my bag unzipped; small talk is also a way to remain sane while waiting for a Q Train, which moves at a glacial pace on Saturdays. 


I must say, being (w)TF's concierge certainly has taught me how to break out of my impossible shell in many ways. So I guess I'm...[gulp]...thankful for my posish [gag] here in some ways. [pants]...shyoof...


I'm surrounded by people who, for the most part, are from anywhere but New York. Espesh in muh nabe. Body Builder is from Trinidad, Artist Assistant is from somewhere in the prairie lands (I forget where), Danny Diva is from Ohio, Aimless Scavenger Man scavenged his way from Maine, and Joe Hipster is from Savayannah, Gawigah (for the record, I've found many a Joe Hipster from Savannah and its surrounding areas huddled in pockets of Williamsburg and Brooklyn Heights...I'm starting to form a theory of their migration here to Brooklyn. For another time...).


So, I remember I'm never alone in feeling awkward and out of place in my own stompin' grounds. Many feel the same way; I've just had to allow myself to see the friendly faces who have been or are in the same boat.
It took almost two years to develop mah Noo Yoawk swag. I'm also a registered voter. I have my usual post office - full of Dominican pride (and by pride, I mean a rain cloud, stop-talking-to-me attitude) and Thai Place knows who I am when I call for a delivery. 


There's still many a tahm when NY shows an ugly face, turns a cold shoulder, and becomes relentlessly overwhelming. It's a love-hate, bittersweet relationship we share as I roam these streets. 
When it gets to one of those points, I'll remember to spot a fellow foreigner and plop down on a fake rock in Central Park to swap stories.


“You walk along the road with all people, and you sing as you go forward. So sing love songs of your homeland, the kind travellers sins and, most of the time, they sing at night.”
-St. Augustine