I didn’t lie, I say. My memories were eaten by the sea.
The next day, we walked down to Coney Island to survey the damage and see how the recovery was progressing.
My father texts and calls me constantly asking if I’m okay, which makes me wonder if people who don’t live in New York think that the hurricane is still happening. Although his incessant barrage of questions annoy me, it’s better than not being called.
As a student on Long Island during the onslaught of Hurricane Sandy, I’ve had mixed feelings about the whole situation. On one hand: no school for a week! On the other hand: no gasoline or drinking water!
Try and save your journals. Perhaps after sitting in the warm November sun, they’ll dry out. Maybe you can still salvage those precious moments about your volunteer experience in Ghana, or that Moleskine pad of cheeky things you witnessed in Ireland.
You’re never going to eat that much tuna, are you?
After what the city has been through these past few days, it might as well be cancelled. We’ve had enough tricks and too little treats. Now you’re telling me to dress up in a scary costume and celebrate the evil spirits? As if. If you want to get scared, just look outside your front door or watch the news. You’ll poop your pants.
New York breeds suffering and suffering breeds creativity.
Everything was different. Your carefully manicured life is interrupted by a storm.
What’s perhaps most interesting about New Yorkers waiting for a natural disaster to hit is that we have to be bored. Really bored until something terrible happens. “Being bored” is most New Yorkers’ version of hell. We live here specifically so we won’t ever be bored!