strangers
One Friday the past June, I had a day off — and I felt like I was gifted a bundle of open time that I didn't know what to do with. So, after a brief consultation with my sister and some Google Map calculations, off I went into the world!
It was one of the happiest existences I've lived in a while. I would say happiest "day", but it felt like time stood still — I only moved on when a certain phase of that day naturally drew to a close, and only then the clock ticked forward. I wish I could do that for most things, but it seems like time most often governs me, rather than the other way around.
Where do I begin?
part 1: coffee.
At Frisson Espresso, NYC. With the book Goodbye, Again by Jonny Sun, a vanilla latte, and a mini pecan tart.
Well, I started the morning by popping into Frisson Espresso, a little coffeeshop only minutes away from our apartment, and the barista greeted me kindly as I entered. I ended up getting a lovely vanilla latte and mini pecan pie, and I was surprised to find space, nabbing a table by the window with a mini fake succulent. The mini pie tasted exactly like the pie I eat around Thanksgiving with my family. And so, I sipped my latte while journaling, which I'd promised to do once a week in the summer but ended up clogging in the back of my chest in a jumble.
No one else has the exact same experience of beauty as me, and that's seriously exciting and also strange, sad, lonely?
(Update: I went again another day and chatted with the barista! He lived in NJ before 😇)
part 2: little island.
After I eventually finished my latte, I took the subway to Little Island, a new tourist attraction that offers anytime-entry before 12 pm for free — and I had remembered there was an 11 am painting session for "all ages." So after waiting for some earlier painters to free up their spots, the staff handed me a simple watercolor set, a postcard-size paper, and some water. I'd remembered that I was talking about favorite flowers with my roommates recently (and also may have been self-consciously missing Twisted Tulip, my favorite cafe from back home), so I looked up some tulip paintings and... voila!
A quick watercolor painting of tulips I did at Little Island, NYC.
Oh right, I was mostly surrounded by young kids and their parents. One cute boy next to me told me my painting was very pretty, and honestly, that was the best compliment I received :')
I then decided to take a spin around Little Island, hunting for a good photo spot that included its terrace-like structure, flowery scenery, as well as hints of the NYC skyline. There were a lot of steps, but I didn’t mind. After holding up my phone around at different angles, I found a sweet spot — and fidgeted around until I could find a girl who looked like she could work with a Polaroid — and in particular, could use the last photo in the camera without needing a redo.
She was super sweet and a little shy — she asked me for a quick tutorial to use the camera, and also took some photos on my phone too. And they were really lovely!
After that, I was feeling Mission Accomplished since I had nabbed a cute photo in a long, flowery dress that I felt self-conscious about since I have to manually tie it together, kind of like a kimono. But hey! Now I was just milling around to say that I’ve been to all corners of the small “island”, when two small elderly men asked me if I needed a photo taken.
*record scratch*
Okay so my brain ran through my typical Stranger Danger thought process, and after weighing some factors (surrounded by a bunch of families, etc). I cautiously said yes! And after a few tries with fingers accidentally blocking the lens, one of them got a really great view of me in front of the Amphitheatre. I actually was just going to hurry off after the first try, but the other man told me to check the first photo and chided his companion to do it again.
And I was... kind of not processing this. Mostly because I so dearly want to believe in the kindness of strangers, but also didn’t ever want one incident to tear me that from that probably naive belief. But my fear of that simultaneously keeps me from embodying that kindness (as well as societal factors like me being a young small-sized woman that someone could toss over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes — but water under the bridge, you know).
Hence, after they introduced themselves and I did as well when they asked my name & where I was from (Vanessa / NJ), I was still too startled to ask or say anything to continue the conversation, and so we parted ways.
But as I walked down the path, some regret, even a feeling of loss, began to cascade inside me (I think Jonny Sun’s new book Goodbye, again talked about this — the missing-ness of people you don't know well that leave your life). Could I have asked where they were from, offered to take their picture, made light banter, ignited my own spark of human warmth to grant someone else? I didn’t know how to shake this off, so I kept wandering down the hill, and at one point offered to take a picture for a woman that was using a selfie camera in some kind of inspiration burst.
And then, the stars aligned. Even though Little Island is... little, all the criss-crossing paths and terraced levels make it hard to see anyone, and for all I knew, the two men had left into the depths of Manhattan. I decided to circle up the other side of the little island since I hadn't finished that side, and... there the two men circled down! And something inside me knew that I had to say something, anything — and so, like them, I offered to take their picture.
A candid of the two older men I met on Little Island. They liked the photo!
They graciously took me up on my offer, as if they knew that I wanted to prolong this memory. And we chatted, sharing a bit about our lives — where we were from, what we were in NYC for, and an inevitable double-take (albeit subtle) when I mentioned where I go to school. And once our words tapered off, we parted ways again, but with much more peace, their names and a phone number metaphorically tucked in my pocket — so at least I can write that into the missing-ness I was feeling, the fact that I had tried my best to grasp onto this serendipity instead of watching it slip through the cracks.
As I left the Little Island, I walked by a small metal exhibition embedded in the concrete: a 3x3 square that emitted different pitches if you stepped on different squares, but they weren't in any particular order I could notice.
flashback to my piano-playing days:
I waited for a Chinese-American family to finish their turn before I went — a mom, dad, and two young daughters, perhaps the oldest being 7 or 8. The mom kept telling her daughters, who were prancing about in discordant joy, to figure out what the pitches were. She even started to step on the squares and declare some middle C, G, and so on (but she was definitely wrong, thanks to my relative-pitch listening).
end.
During my turn, I felt out the melody to "Mary Had a Little Lamb," and a group of observers applauded after! And so, I walked off Little Island towards my next destination with giddiness :)
part 3: cake & tea
Close-up of the delicious banana cream cake from HARBS Chelsea. Peep the omelet sandwich in the back!
For lunch, I went to HARBS, a Japanese cafe known for their amazing cake. Though I was worried about it being busy, I was pleasantly surprised that it was quite peaceful and chose a spacious spot in the back of the restaurant by the window. The only other diners were a group of three women, each with a baby carriage, as they murmured, chattered, and laughed in a mix of Japanese and English.
As I nibbled away at my lunch — an amazing bacon & cheese omelet sandwich, side salad, and slice of banana cream cake, I read more of Jonny's Sun Goodbye, Again, since I was within the last forty pages of finishing it. I felt so at peace, nibbling on my banana cream, adding stickies to pages, and sipping some iced tea. (I also saw a man through the window with a couple of belts hanging around his neck, walking three identical bulldogs at one point.) And just like that, my cup eventually became all ice, and the next page I flipped to was the Acknowledgements section.
"I believe that the things you notice — that you love, that make you pause — make up who you are. And so it feels, in a way, like those things are a part of you, even though they are outside of you. Which makes me wonder if it would be more accurate to say, perhaps, that a piece of you is kept alive by a part of them." — Goodbye, Again (Jonny Sun)
As I was preparing to leave, I finally looked up more closely at the couple that had sat down at the table next to me. And what would you know — the man sitting there was holding a CORGI like a baby tucked in the cranny of his left elbow. THIS WHOLE TIME! I was smiling so much internally — the young moms were still there, rocking the carriages when one of their babies squealed, and here was this guy, rocking his corgi back and forth in the same way.
And so, I wondered about why we tend to avoid gazes. We look away to "respect people's privacy," or because we don't want to see something we cannot bear, or because we don't want to seem as if we are lacking, like we find jealousy or desire in what we gaze at. But maybe thoughts like that keep us from confronting the little bits of joy (or sadness) from others that contains too much inside of them to be kept in the periphery.
This definitely got a bit philosophical, but all I really wanted to remind myself was: look up.
part 4: park (I don't want to go home)
On the way to HARBS, I had passed by a small bookstore, so I browsed the books there for a while before considering my next steps. I felt a bit of a lull but didn't want to go home just yet, so I decided to find a sunny bench at the Clement Clarke Moore Park right next door. And so, I whipped out the tiny notebook I had brought along, and wrote a bit.
I'm sitting in a park, next to someone strumming the guitar because I don't want to get on the subway. I don't want to go back to counting time. I like this — people in ones or twos, munching or singing or sitting in peace. I don't want to lose my anonymity. Does that make me strange, to just want to stay on this bench next to all these little sparrows and feel like crying because I am here or because I won't be soon enough? I don't know what this man is singing, but I don't want it to end... And he just did, but he started another song soon enough, and maybe that's the best I will get.
part 5: sephora
In an extension of "I don't want to go home," I had already planned to drop by Sephora — but once I took the elevator down into the spacious Times Square Sephora, which was not too busy, I took the chance to ask for skincare advice, since I have wanted to take care of my skin more (and since I don't have any sort of routine). And, it was quite... empowering. To tell someone: I didn't know, I want to know more, and I want to try something new for myself! The young woman assisting me was super excited but also patient, asking me about prices and reassuring me that we did not have to do anything complicated.
After she helped rub about eight different serums on my arms before I chose one, after I swiped at the test lip glosses to my heart's content, and after reminding myself that I indeed do not need another eyeshadow palette, I left with the prospect of brightening my day, even if it would just be for the fifteen seconds each morning to spread some lightness on my cheeks before a long workday.
And at last, I re-entered the timeline reluctantly — I returned home, did some research work until dinner, watched a K-drama with a roommate, and prepped for the weekend.
part 6: can I capture a day before leaving it?
Photo of the polaroid the nice girl took of me on Little Island. June 25, 2021.
I think it's strange that I found so much joy in this one day, even though I did not know most of the people I encountered, and even though I did not do or plan to do anything extraordinary. Was it because it was an illusion: like I was given this day back like a forgotten cookie in the jar, so I felt like I had to find more beauty for this gift to be worthwhile? Or do I just make excuses for me, my schedule, my work — to refuse to see what has been there all along, to refuse to carve space, to refuse to look up and hold a gaze, to refuse to receive and impart sprinklings of peace like summer rain?
(written in the park)
Can I capture a day before leaving it? ...
I knew that whenever I'd think back on this day, I'd be wondering how they were. And how they showed me the kindness of strangers, the type you recognize by touch but never again by name.
My ramblings are drawing to a close. All I can say is: the new serum kept my face refreshed all day in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, I've exchanged over message the scenic photos of Little Island with one of the kind elderly men I met, and in my wallet, I keep the Polaroid taken by a stranger that I trusted with the last photo my camera could offer.