Complacency

Over the last two years, I've adopted New York as my home. I've grown to love her, like I did London, and Kodi before that. I've gotten to know her soul, so that the other day when a taxi cab nudged too close to me as I crossed the road, I actually raised my arms in a gesture of WTF, rather than scuttling hastily away as I would have otherwise done. Unconsciously, I've learnt her unspoken rules. About having to us public laundromats. And being efficient in supermarket queues. And weaving briskly through pedestrianised sidewalks. I've fallen in love with the vibrance and adventure she offers to life. Over the last two years, we have gotten to know each other, the city and me, and adopted each other into the folds of our lives.

And just as I was slipping into a warm and familial feeling of complacency, this weekend sent me a jolt or two to set me upright.

Doobs and I had gone over to visit Queen Noor. It was a balmy evening, and we decided to buy a bottle of wine and set up picnic on her rooftop, from where we could enjoy a view of the city. The night was dark. There was nobody else around, and the roof top was ours for the having. A gentle breeze blew through our hair. We could see the Empire State Building not far away, looking down at us with its diamond brilliance. Queen Noor had brought up her iPod and sounddock, and beautiful french lounge music filled the air. A perfect evening for relaxed banter and a glass of wine. Then at one point, a couple of hours in, we decided to go down for a quick toilet break. Must have been gone for less than 10 minutes - and yet, when we came back, the iPod and sounddock were gone.

At first, we were creeped: if the iPod had been stolen in exactly the ten minutes we were gone, it figured that someone might have actually been watching us while we sat there. But mostly, we were saddened. Not only was the iPod gone - but it was even more than that. The rose-tinted mood had been shattered by the sudden harshness with which life can deal swift blows. It was a rude awakening from the idealistic and romanticised view of the city we had developed.

The very next morning, Delta and I were to go for a bike ride around the city. I stood there with my bike waiting for Delta in front of my building, as the time ticked by. Ten minutes late, then fifteen - which was entirely uncharacteristic for him. Finally he approached, pedalling towards me furiously. "You're not going to believe what happened!" he exclaimed.

Delta had witnessed the final stages of an incident which shook the neighborhood that weekend. A rampant man randomly stabbing (to critical condition) two innocent passersby.
"They had four cops on the guy just to hold him down! And the ambulance was just pulling away as I reached there," he described in horror.
I shuddered. This was, after all, only a few blocks from my building.

Something about the weekend jolted me upright. As much as I love my life in the city, it wasn't the dream I had come to see it as. There was a sinister side to it, always lurking, but around the corner, out of sight. It was as though New York was reaching out to me through her murky depths. Don't get complacent, she said.