New York

I'm flying to New York City in less than two weeks, and as much as I've told myself over the last few years that New York isn't what it used to be, and that it's lost a lot of its old charm... there's still an undeniable surge of energy you feel the moment you step out onto any of its bustling streets and feel the sheer electricity of its vibration. You'll hear the ceaseless sounds of yellow taxi cabs honking in traffic (or, lets face it, honking for no reason whatsoever), the deliverymen laughing or shouting jests at one another, bits and pieces of conversations of passersby. As much as I'd like to say I'm "over" New York-- the truth is, I am very much still in love with its entire essence.

My romance with New York began on my first visit when I was sixteen. I had been accepted as a scholarship student at a dance school on the upper west side, and as our plane flew over Manhattan and I saw the giant sky scrapers for the first time, I felt an excitement that pulsed through my entire body. Little did I know, that that was only a small precursor to the thrill that I was about to feel when driving to our hotel. I remember looking out of the backseat window of our cab and being absolutely mesmerized-- SO many people, SO many colors and lights, and buildings towering so high I couldn't even see where they reached. I decided right then that one day, I would live there. Later, I remembered what my mother had told me when I was eight years old and about to take my first ballet class at a new studio. I was extremely nervous (almost to the point of tears) and the big lump in my throat didn't help matters any! I've always had bad stage fright and nervousness before a performance, audition, or being in any new setting, and that moment especially was difficult as I was completely new to the area (we had just moved to North America only a year or two prior) and I didn't know a soul. As my mom was leading me towards the class, she pointed to a painting on the wall--- A black and gold painting of dancers in New York on stage-- she pointed to that framed picture and said to me, "See? One day you will be in New York doing the same thing! Go in, Ika." Needless to say, I loved the ballet class, and as I sat in the cab that late afternoon many years later, staring out the window in amazement-- I knew my mother was right. I would call New York home one day.

And I did! For five glorious (and not so glorious) years, New York City was my playground. I was nineteen when I packed my bags and arrived, and life definitely tested me, to say the least (dollar a day diet, anyone?). I grew, I learned, I worked hard, I fell in love for the first time, I discovered the incredible strength of the human spirit, I learned that I will always find a way, and I discovered parts of myself I never would have had I lived anywhere else. And, to top it off, my wonderful Father followed suit and moved there, too! But after a few years, I noticed something changing. Something was different. Something within New York just wasn't the same anymore. I saw cute mom & pop shops closing up and being replaced with McDonald's' or T-Mobiles; I saw swarms of people walking around with frowns on their faces, unperturbed by being shoved or jostled aside; I heard foul and disrespectful language from New Yorker to New Yorker. And while those things have always been a part of the city to a certain extent, the important thing I realized was that the charm and beauty of the Old New York (the New York that I love best-- the era of the Sinatra's or the Monroe's or the fictional Gatsby's) was gone forever. I suppose, now, that the major disillusionment came when my Papa passed away. That was a very dark time for me. His funeral was held in Greenwich Village, and certain streets and blocks hold so many memories that they are painful to walk through-- and I've been avoiding them ever since. The City now just seems dark, gray, ever-morbid, with a past that seems brighter than its future. I always associated New York with Charm, Class, Strength, and my Father, and once he was gone, New York was, too.

I didn't ever want to go back. But now, I realize that although I don't live in New York anymore, a huge, intrinsic part of me still does. I spent some of my most formative years there, learning, growing, and testing my resilience and tenacity. "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere", right? (cue Frank Sinatra's Theme from New York, New York). Such a big part of my life still rests there, on those concrete avenues filled with dreams and hopes, in the subway trains zooming past, in the artists and writers and go-getters, in the little flower still finding the sunlight reaching through the cracks of the curb, in the quaint bookshops and 24 hour diners. New York is full of life and progress-- always going forward forward forward. And although I've had to come to terms with many losses I've felt there, I must always remember one thing; My Father, a dreamer, a mathematician, a scientist who saw beauty and love so vividly-- is still there. His ashes are now a part of the beating pulse of New York, and as his blood flows through my veins, so then is my heart ever bound to its constant pull.

So, this time, I am looking afresh at New York. It will always be a part of me. Not because of its lavish temptations and expanse of experience, the excitement it offers and the opportunities it parades, but because a literal part of me, the flesh and blood of my being, still rests there, enticing me, comforting me, telling me, "I am always here."

The Greatest Books of All Time, Part I

Pages Past Bookstore; Greensboro, North Carolina

Now, I know this list may be slightly subjective, as most lists are; however, I do believe it has something of interest for every reader. The following works of fiction are not only a pleasure to peruse, but also provide the foreground for thought-provoking questions revolving around morals, destiny, and character. And who doesn't love spending the day thinking about deep, poignant things such as that!? :P

1. The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

"F. Scott Fitzgerald? What did he ever do to you?!" - Ted 2

Putting aside the influence this work of fiction has had on pop culture and mainstream media, The Great Gatsby truly is one of the greatest American novels of all time. Was Jay Gatsby a romantic dreamer, loyal to a fault? Or was he simply a crook, selfish in his designs and egotistical in his ambitions? That is something we will always argue over, as Fitzgerald so expertly makes sure that we don't ever truly find out who or what Jay Gatsby's true motivation was. We only see him through the eyes of the narrator, Nick Caraway. And, as we all know, what Susie says of Sally says more about Susie than Sally. 
Most of us were first introduced to Gatsby during our high school days, yet I don't believe that we fully grasp its tenacious grip on the American Dream, and what that means to us, until we've read it for a second, third, or (like me) fifth time. We most likely don't even grasp its depth after reading it a dozen times. Each word, each sentence has such meaning; the words fit and flow together so beautifully, it's as though Fitzgerald found the perfect painting, carved it into a thousand pieces, and crafted a puzzle whose lasting effects would haunt us for decades.

2. Family Happiness, Leo Tolstoy

What has Tolstoy written that has not been magnificent? ... Exactly. Family Happiness verges on the bittersweet, through which we are able to vividly identify ourselves with each character. Such acute intuition and dignified prose is second to none. Really, anything by Tolstoy is worth reading, and I'd suggest starting with Family Happiness. Mostly, of course, because it is a classic, but partly because it is not a mile long and does not weigh more than your first-born child :)

3. The Forsyte Saga, John Galsworthy

As I always say, there are only two types of people in the world: those who like Irene, and those who don't. If you've read The Forsyte Saga, you'll know why.
The Forsyte's are an old, well-to-do family who reside in London. They prize property as the highest good a man can achieve. In their view, without property (or wealth), what good is a man? Sensible, practical, reliable; these are words that are synonymous with the name Forsyte. Ahhhh, but then... love comes into play. And so does Irene.

Formidable. A great work exploring human nature, prejudice, family, and love.

4. The Cape Cod Lighter, John O'Hara
 

Ah, now here's a real treat for you. I was introduced to John O'Hara through a very close friend, quite possibly a mentor to me, and he suggested Butterfield 8. I loved it. And although The Cape Cod Lighter is arranged differently, my adoration fares high just the same. A collection of 23 short stories, each one seemingly more profound than the last. Seldom have I encountered a collection of short stories that has left me with an "aha!" moment after each, or a pressing compulsion to re-read the last page. A really beautiful piece of work.

5.  An American Tragedy, Theodore Dreiser
 

Heart-wrenching to some, grotesquely immoral to others, An American Tragedy is a truly gripping novel that deals with family, love, success, and the costs of ruthless ambition. Written in 1925, it follows the hunger for financial and social gain of that generation, although perhaps it is more fitting to the present day. The novel centers around Clyde Griffiths and his moral weaknesses, despite his charming and ingratiating manner. Based off of the murder of Grace Brown in 1906, Dreiser followed the criminal case and saved newspaper clippings about the murder until its denouement in 1908, when the charged criminal, Chester Gillette, was sentenced to execution via the electric chair. Interesting that Dreiser chose the same initials for his character as Chester Gillette.

Compelling, heartbreaking, and a pure classic.

For the next installment of The Greatest Books of All Time, I will discuss novels that follow a more light-hearted path. They're read more for pleasure, wit, and enjoyment, rather than poetic views of life.

See you then! And thanks for reading!

Ika

Montreal

You can't deny it; the French have style.

And Montreal, The City of A Hundred Bell Towers (la ville aux cent clochers), has a lot to show for the French influence.

Last week, I had the chance to travel to one of my favorite cities, Montreal. The "City of Mary" has a rich history and beautiful, old world architecture. You can find cobbled streets, beautiful churches (a replica of St. Peter's Basilica, for example), and statuesque homes on your daily strolls. Warm, cozy cafes and classy boutique shops are reminiscent of the streets of Paris, where you can see even the busiest of people enjoying a sip of espresso or laughing with a dear friend.

Montreal, je t'aime!

Westmount District

On a stroll through my sister's neighborhood.

Beautiful autumn colors.

Keeping warm on a chilly day.