GENE DUVAL

***Work in progress***

 

PART I

At one point or another, everyone I knew spoke of their version of the American dream, most of which involving New York City. Somehow, that dream was never mine. From afar, the city didn’t feel glamorous and full of opportunities; it embodied a constant struggle that I, myself, couldn’t bear to witness—let alone experience it.

 

It’s easy to stay we are done with a place; easy to wish for something else. But knowing you must leave the city of your childhood is not as easy. In my early twenties, I felt lost in Montreal—a city which always enchanted and challenged me. The city was evolving, but somehow I couldn’t take part in any of the action; it no longer belonged to me—not that it ever did. The idea of being a designer left me empty, and I was terrified of even thinking I could write for a living. Sadly, none of the pre-made moulds applied to me.

 

My “dream” wasn’t about a place or even a profession; it was about a land of possibilities (honestly, it was an escape). I’m pretty sure I had no idea what that was when I started applying for graduate school. I had one criterion: anywhere, but Montreal. And all I knew is that I had design training (not that it mattered), and wanted to do research. But don’t we all. Everywhere I applied required flying and in my own way, I think that was my attempt at leaving everything behind. A month into the process while sitting at a café with an old friend, New York City was mentioned and that left me feeling uneasy. There is no way I can move there; I hate the city, it is noisy, dirty and way too crowded (all the things I now defend to all my friends). Why would I ever want to put myself in such a struggle?

 

A couple of weeks later, I was driving down for the weekend to look at apartments. I got in (must be my biggest nightmare coming true). The trip translated into two days of looking at small bedrooms without closet, kitchens that aren’t meant to cook anything (not even a piece of toast), meeting brokers trying to match “kids” and see how it ends up, or people shooting heroin on their stoop on a Sunday morning, there was no way I could survive two years there. It took one guy to guilt me into looking in another neighbourhood and accept a lease way over my budget to make me realised I was in for the biggest fight of my life. I now refer to this overpriced, dark and somewhat nicely located apartment as the DUNGEON. Every moment in this place made me feel like the walls were caving in on me but going outside felt like the whole world was against me. I was paying for a room, and that’s all I got. The common spaces were less than common as one roommate extended to the couch area, the kitchen had a small fridge which was supposed to store food for three people, the counter space was—let’s be real— inexistent, and we had no place to eat. I spend countless hours working and eating on my bed—my settings were less than ideal. And let’s not forget Louie, this adorable Frenchie, who would bark at anyone walking in or out of the building from his pillow, nicely located, in front of my bedroom door. Did I mention that we were on the ground floor? I think you can understand my struggle.

 

Somehow through managing living in this apartment, getting accustomed to being a grad student, I slowly fell in love with New York City. The place of all of my nightmares shifted into a place where dreams do happen; they just might take a little—or a lot—more work. After all, you are competing against the entire world packed in five boroughs.

 

 

PART II

The dungeon wasn’t all that bad. My room was quite large and the closet could fit all of my clothes without needing a dresser. It even had a window—a New York window—to the courtyard (the neighbours’ kitchen). I spend numerous hours looking at them and started imagining we all knew each other even though I would hide by my front door if I heard anyone make their way to the hallway. There was the pizza guy on the second floor; he would come drunk every Thursday night and look in the fridge for five minutes before making his way to his room without any food. Every time, he would come back a few minutes later and bite in a slice of pizza from the fridge but he would never bring the pizza back with him. I watched him travel from the back of the apartment to the fridge until the slice was all consumed. I liked to think he was an anxious character who struggled at making hard decision, such as where to eat the pizza. I grew so attach to the life I created for him and I worried when the apartment was dark on Thursday nights.

 

Through writing stories about my neighbours and convincing myself to venture outside of the dungeon, I started noticing the little things that makes the city great. I weirdly felt really empowered by how invisible I was in the crowd. I was one stranger among a sea of unconventional people and somehow we all play a role in building this infinite puzzle.

 

The over-populated public square (such as Washington Square) turned into tiny moments of interactions with people; the chess players on the south-west corner, the jazz quartet by the fountain, the dogs running in circle in the dog park, the kids splashing and laughing in the fountain, the tourists taking selfie with the arch. The more I walk the square, the more distant all these interactions felt. They were no longer a blurb of activities, but independent instances which created the web of live (my New York City). I started to notice the micro-activities and I was part of some of them while being so distant from most of them.

  

People talk of failing in love, love at first sight, the place I was meant to live in, but I think my relation with New York City is more a growing endless love, one that I can no longer ignored. Attempting to assimilate the city means that you are constantly fighting against the grain, living—or I should say surviving—here builds your character. I’ve come to realise that the city punches you in the face until you can’t take it anymore. You will lose most of the time, but when you win, it feels like the whole world is being you. The lost are constant and the wins are simply magnificent.

 

No other place can compete with my city. I’m the one that got away.