The Day of the Jackhole

The Day of the Jackhole

Celebrating 40 years on this earth

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2003. Alien.

September 12, 2011

I arrive in NYC during a blizzard. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. This is not Singapore weather, and I’m guessing by the kerfuffle that it’s not really April in New York weather either.

As we come through the Lincoln Tunnel and pop out into belly of Manhattan, I see people in puffy jackets with collars pulled up tight to their ears. The blizzard is getting worse. I have never seen a blizzard before, and I instinctively feel the thickness of this crappy coat I randomly bought just before leaving. It’s pretty thin. But I’ll be fine. Right?

The cab driver pulls around the corner and onto 92nd street. I leave all my stuff with him as I try find the entrance to the dorms at the 92nd street YHCA. He’s irriated, and has been the whole trip. First, because he ‘shouldn’t be driving in this blizzard’; second, because he had to clean off the front seat so I could sit there and put my bike box in the back seat, and third; because I don’t know where the entrance is and he’s got to wait for me with all my stuff in his cab.

The entrance is actually pretty obvious, now that I’ve found it, and I turn tail and run back around to the cab. But as I do so, I am struck by the moment. It’s a strange, hick sensation.

I look down at my white and silver adidas as they run through the snow.

‘I’m running,’ I think, in a moment of sheer joy and wonderment.

‘I’m running. In the snow!’

Arms swing. Snow in my eyelashes and on my face.

‘‘I’m running. In the snow! IN NEW YORK!’

Hey, give me my hick moment. Being an immigrant alien is exciting.

 


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