Lights, flashes, glimmering windows.
My bus is crawling through the chaos of Times Square. I sit immobile, in a stare.
The city flows past me, as an ocean tide rushes past one’s feet on the sandy shore. Like the water leaves, New York City is leaving my life in that moment, maybe to return at the next full moon.
Peering outside the window I witness daily activity- businessmen hurrying home, couples huddled together against the frosty cold, doormen patiently eyeing the street. Safely inside the bus I do not feel the biting wind or the dirty slush upon my boots, I could not hear the screams and laughter of these people. But I remember I too was out there- a stranger to someone watching from a bus or cab- a person in the external world. Now I have switched roles, and by being an observer and a subject at one point, we are all the same.
The city began to say its goodbye, as the buildings darkened and the crowds thinned. Lincoln Tunnel approached. The red and yellow glares of traffic became my only company, and after passing through the circular passage, I emerged away from what I had just known. I was officially on a journey, on route to Cornell, a place of different lights and different sights, but of the same life, the same people.