I've made it–officially–a full round on the seasons' hamster wheel. It's funny how adapting, darwinism or whatever you want to call it, makes itself evident once you are confronted with the sudden awakening of change. I came to this city, New York City, a little over a year ago. Before that, I had never truly experience change. Maracaibo–my city of origin–is toasty all year round. Its sun has no mercy, its wind is nonexistent–you'll find yourself dragging your exhausted body towards any body of water, but you never make it far enough. There are AC's everywhere and those are the pit stop you'll set up camp at and never leave. You see, Maracaibo is hot, very hot, right-on-top-of-the-Equator hot. It is constant, no seasons, just hot. The never-changing nature of it all felt comforting at best, ordinary at worst. I liked that.
My first year in the city was rough. Never mind not knowing anybody and trying to figure out who you are and where you are going while walking really fast. Never mind the cultural abysm–why is it that no one says “good morning” on the elevator? When did “uh-huh” become a suitable substitute for “you are welcome”? It isn't, rude. And then there was the weather. It was a recurring, absolute reminder I wasn't in Kansas anymore. The surviving of it, specially, felt like a great feat. Maybe it was. Am I finally allowed to call myself a New Yorker? You better believe I will after making it through the harshest winter in the last 20 years.
Which brings us to the heart of the matter, our first encounter sucked! What was all that fuss about orange leaves and brown clothes? I was just preoccupied on making it across the street without being swooped away by the wind. But now, now the initial shocked has fizzled, and I've had a full year to prepare for you–I won't wear sandals at this time again, lesson learned– and I'm starting to get it. It's nice to have a nice breeze every now and then, feels good to wear sweaters that hug me on the right spots, it's beautiful to see expressions of our own growth and change through nature. You are kind of nice. I think I'm starting to like you, fall. Hell, I think I'm falling for you. The transitions, the coats, even the leaves. Let's take it to the next level, I'm here to stay.
10 things I love about you
1. You are taming my hair. Humidity has left the building and I could start rocking some blunt bangs. I won't, but I could.
2. Creams and concoctions I never knew existed, or the understandable excuse for splurging on them.
3. Turtlenecks, I thought I couldn't stand them, but that was before I knew you. They make me feel like a beatnik and that's a great place to be.
4. Permission to indulge in nostalgia. Not going to lie, it's my thing all year round, but you are the perfect backdrop. The unbearable lightness of being.
5. Tights, my legs look slender, I feel cozy, shall we dance?
6. Horror films, I knew we were meant to be when I realized you were the season for these. I love them in all their shapes and forms–bad, good, unwatchable. Yes, it's a date.
7. Leather, another thing I didn't know I wanted, but I do. Feeling like I could own a motorcycle, without having to mess up my hair with a helmet makes me smile.
8. Pecans. With maple. With bacon. With spices, without. In a salad, in pies. I do.
9. Hot beverages. I'm too sensitive to caffeine, but matcha is alright and pretty tasty at that.
10. Family (on Thanksgiving.) The warmest place there ever was.
10 things we need to work on
1. The sudden shortening of daylight, I'm sun-powered and this is hard.
2. Icky elbows, or skin in general. I feel like I'm aging faster.
3. Unannounced bursts of rain. My hair is not ready for it, ever.
4. Nostalgia. This goes both ways. I miss home more than ever when the days turn grey.
5. Limited footwear options. Sometimes my feet want to breath, specially in New Walk City.
6. Starch, which it's alright every once in a while, but there seems to be so much of it. All the time. Can't say I'm a fan of all the potato on top of pumpkin on top of pie. Pumpkin pie, pot pie, potato gnocchi with apple pie. This can't be good for my heart, fall.
7. Why do I still need to wear sunscreen? I can't get a tan anyway, what is this sorcery?
8. Indoors everything–you can walk at the park, but a picnic is out of the question when it's all damp and dirty. Breathing cold air while jogging makes me feel like I'm dying, and I don't think that's the desired outcome here.
9. Colds. Not the cold, but a cold. Everyone has it. Shoo.
10. That itchy thing that lives in sweaters–you only realize it's there once you are out of the house and sweat a little. I hate that thing.
It's not all good, or bad. It's just different. We could make it work if we want it bad enough.
Lovingly on the fence,