On the plane I couldn't stop shaking. That always happened to me when I traveled to the U.S, somehow the border cops reflect something so scary in my mind, like if they had all the power in the world and was just a little worm they would peak from the mud with their enormous claws. But like always, my fears are just a creation of my ill mind, and nobody asks me why am I coming to the US for no reason, if am i planning to stay, why did I quit my job so suddenly, why don't I have nobody to love me in my home town and I came to this city so terribly alone. Actually the last one they did asked me, not with those words, but something like that and I said I knew some people here, "I have friends here", the first lie of this journey. I don't really know anybody. Well, that's another lie: I know two people but they are not my friends.
I did cried on the plane. My mom made me feel like crying when she dropped me off so I started the moment I set foot on the machine. I couldn't do it passing the PDI in Chile (border patrol or detectives), that would have been suspicious somehow, s. I was so nervous about everything I just thought i could never go out of the country again which didn't made any sense. I have always been use to travel, but this time everything seemed so final. It felt like dying. Like dying and being reborn but with the horrifying ability of remembering your past lives. How bad is that, being reborn and still keep all of the memories you had, all the love you experienced, all the negligence, all the mistakes. A walking nostalgia.
The police officer asked me how much money i had on me. I didn't lied. It was enough. When i got out of the air train to the subway i felt the cold air of New York for the first time and it filled my lungs who where sick of the hot chilean weather and polluted air. It felt good. Different. The northern cold winter air is so different from the winter air in south America, so sticky, just chilling your body, breaking the skin of your hands, but not letting you breathe.
The only time i had came to the city before was last year on the summer. Everything seemed different, shiner, people looked more happy. Even if the heat was bursting, it felt better. Maybe it was because i knew i was just coming on vacations for a few days before going to Mexico to do a book research, a book that was never completed. Now i had another view of myself and about this new place and everything was grey like in a True Detective episode. People looked insane. There was a guy with raggy clothes and a few rings talking by himself and trying to hit on every girl who passed. So lame. I don't really know why i had all of this pre disposition to fancyness. I think i just looked one to many New York sitcoms before coming here because all of the glamour was gone, just reflecting on my imagination.
The moment i got to Brooklyn it was just like, "ok, whatever". Got to the airbnb and slept till 3 o'clock.
YOU ARE READING
The New York journal
HumorA latino man moves from his home town in Chile to New York to try to make it into writing. He comes as an ilegal immigrant and knows very few people in this frightful city, when even the first time he jumps in the subway everybody seem to be crazy...
