Chapter 4 – New York, New York

The much-needed family visit was a success. Despite my misfit feelings I didn’t know I’d have to combat for as long as have and for as long as I currently foresee, I enjoyed spending time with my family. I never got to celebrate the soon-to-be arrival of Mr. Logan Joos, but with Ms. Lily Joos, I got to share in the joy of her almost birthday which is currently scheduled for March 12th.

Mom and I arrived in New York, New York on Monday, January 19, 2009. Eagerly anticipating my new apartment I had yet to see, we jumped into a cab and promptly gave him my street and the street crossing. It took at least three repeats for this cab driver to figure out where exactly we were going. This should have been my first clue.

My mom, four suitcases, a guitar, my cat and I arrived to my new apartment in Harlem at 10:30am and patiently waited for my roommate to arrive with my key. During the hour we waited, we managed to get into the “lobby” of my apartment complex which is about the space of two people standing in between two glass doors. Mind you – it’s snowing and we’re freezing. I noticed quickly that the bottom glass section of the door was completely shattered, so, I decided to check out the place. Well, at least see the front of my door.

I walked through the door and immediately suffocated by the smell of urine located – only God knows where, and I noticed the punched holes in the wall of the hall. My ears flooded with a screaming child, and a barking dog as I stared down at the concaved rock/marble/granite mismatched concaved stairs. Careful not to let any part of my clothing touch the now dirt filled walls, I walked to the third floor to see the door of what I would soon call home. My door is a metal door luckily enough to have a peep hole but slightly resembling the front of a single cell prison door. I half expected to see a police officer guarding the entrance. Feeling hopeless, I walked back towards my cat and my mom trying to shake the images of Basketball Diaries and my luxurious apartment in San Francisco.

Holding back tears and trying to safe face for my mom, my roommate arrived and handed me the keys to the apartment, and so began my journey in New York.

For the record, I am describing to you how I felt then and not how I feel now – 20 days later.

The apartment inside is so cosy and endearing. Yes, it is a hobbit hole. Yes, we call it the shire. Yes, we call my room “Fort Bev.” Yet, it is a home- my home - a home with all my stuff in it. I got to sleep in my bed, which I haven’t slept in for four months. It has a living room with two bookcases, a piano, a futon, a window. It has a little tiny kitchen with a half size stove that can only be opened when my bedroom door is closed. My room has my queen-sized bed lofted, but I can’t stand underneath it. The bed takes over the entire bedroom and one must “scoot” past the start of my bed frame that takes over 90% of my doorway to get to the closet and really the only spot in my entire room that one can stand up in. Seriously, I live in a closet with a bed in it. ☺ Despite my description, it’s really not that bad. I actually kinda love it. It’s small, cute, with a piano, a great roommate and my bed. It’s really just perfect for my first New York apartment.


The first week went by extremely quickly, I finally understood what “New York minute meant because a week went by and it felt like a day. My mind could not rest even at 4am in the morning because there was so much to focus on - to think about - to hope for.

It’s my time. This is going to take some time, but it is my time.