It starts..

If my life were a painting, I think it would be titled "Concrete Rose." I'm sure there would be many great splashes of color, a few strokes of black for those melancholy moments, and maybe some turpentine for good measure (you know... to get rid of those past indiscretions of mine I'd rather forget!). In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm a living art project brought forth by the work of many a New York City artist-- German tourists on the subway, my Puerto Rican "titi" (and favorite neighbor), makeshift magicians on street corners, my colorful Sicilian grandparents (Nonna, I can hear you shouting some off-color saying right now), and best friends with whom I watch obscure indie and foreign movies late into the night.

Oftentimes, I ask myself: "Am I who I am because I grew up here?" The answer is, in fact, quite simple: of course! Honestly, where else could I buy bagels at 3 AM and see trannies shamelessly pulling their latex panties aside and peeing on the doorsteps of buildings? I can never find an answer to that question no matter how hard I try. Even if I tirelessly searched high and low, I doubt I could. Venice? No, probably not. Amsterdam? I'm sure it would be fun (if you're into that), but I doubt it. Miami? Great energy, but not like the bastion of all that is good about America that is New York. In my eyes, nothing will ever come between me and my first man- Manhattan. There's just something about these busy avenues that makes me feel alive. I don't think they've invented a word for it yet.

Now, don't get confused. I was born and raised in Queens, and I'm damn proud of it. You see, only real New Yorkers come from the outer boroughs. As much as I love the City, many of the people there are just transplants from the Midwest anyway... But getting back to the subject at hand, I don't want it to seem like I'm unworldly. I've been to Europe, South America, the Caribbean and back. I don't eat typical American fare (hot dogs? I'll pass), and I absolutely adore learning about new cultures (current obsession: Korean). I've trekked to El Yunque in Puerto Rico, dipped my toes in the Mediterranean, and danced bachata in the Dominican Republic, but I don't think any other place in the world tugs at my heart strings like NYC. You see, I was raised a city girl. My parents were raised in the city. Their parents were of the tenement generation, and after immigrating, spent all their lives here. I guess love for all things urban is just in my blood. I don't think that once a person comes here, s/he can ever forget the glittering wonder of 42nd street, the raw gritttiness of St. Mark's Place, the beauty of Central Park in winter time or even the knishes at Yonah Schimmel's on second avenue (go ahead, try them!).

In all actuality though, even a place like NYC has it's problems. In such an expensive place to live, poverty is a serious issue. Ever since I was little, my parents took my brother and I to volunteer at the Bowery Mission. In true New York fashion, I rolled up my sleeved and served food to the homeless with gusto and genuine compassion. Just knowing that there are people out there who have less than you can make a girl cry. My trips there weren't about me. When I look back, they were about others.. about New York; its residents, its beautification, and its energy. For my family, it was the love for our city, our fellow man, and our compassion that brought us there. After all, weren't we once in sort of the same position? It's true that we came from poor European immigrants and knew the pangs of hunger, too. But at the end of the day, in a city with as many people as ours, life would be beautiful if we could all help one another. If just one of us lent a helping hand, maybe we could make New York even better. It'll be tough though, because I think for all her flaws, she's already a pretty damn cool chick.