Connecting with NYC

Strangely enough, I was never really romanced by the city of New York. Perhaps it is because I do not like cities in general, or I have been to used to the serenity of suburban North Carolina.

The subways were the worst part of the city, endlessly sucking people in and spitting us out like goods. We were on our way to devour the city as fast as we could, endlessly bombarded by the city’s siren calls for us to consume not just goods but an entire culture, not just services but an entire lifestyle.

I’m not sure whether I was just too lazy to check the maps or that I was seriously lost, or that I was negligently lost while traversing the city. When left alone to prowl the streets, I felt the immense sense of loss and disorientation. As much as I tried to appreciate the city, I could not connect with it or the people who stand on it. I was glad to be able to find a quiet café opposite Radio City and to get lost reading my new-bought book, “People’s History of the United States”.

The human connection improved greatly for me on this last real day of ‘touring’ New York City. Through gracious human connections and the grace of God, I was finally able to receive proper treatment for my injured shoulder. By the grace of God, the Singaporean family I was staying with recommended me to a reliable Chinese practice, which was helmed by none other than another Singaporean immigrant. I felt the Singaporean touch immensely, in both senses of the word.

On our last purchase trip of NYC, we finally laid our hands on the all-so-famous “I love NYC” t-shirts. The seller noticed my funny accent-less English and asked me where I was from. When I announced Singapore like a train-master, he surprised me with an “Assalamu alaikum”. I was doubly shocked as I tried to understand why he said that to me upon revelation of my Singapore identity, while another hungry side of me immediately awoke to figure out the best Arabic response. Yes, finally I had found an Arabic speaker in NYC. I had been looking round for some Arab brother to converse with, NYC being as diverse as it is. I had noticed the halal food being sold by street hawkers but somehow never thought about just trying out a polite “Assalamu alaikum”. How silly of me!

Eventually, a choppy conversation struck up as most of my elementary Arabic streamed back into my consciousness and out of my lips, impressing this man of Egyptian descent greatly. Thanks to my professors and to God for the grace and help given to me to help me grasp this wonderful and beautiful language. He also revealed to me that most shish kebab sellers on the street corners were Arabs too. It was just too bad that by that time I was leaving Manhattan and NYC already. But in that brief moment when we conversed in Arabic and made a new friend, my human connection with the city and its dwellers were immense. I felt a great sense of relief and joy, mixed with the regret that I was leaving it so soon, unable to try out more Arabic and amuse some of these street corner hawkers.