People come to New York in pursuit of dreams, ambition, or sometimes, just to have a taste of an exciting life in a city of 8 million souls. Everyone talks about how exciting this city is, that there’s no place like it. But nobody really talks about when someone is tired of it. Maybe I used the wrong word. Saying that someone is tired would be an understatement. Before I go any further, let me make one thing clear, I do not hate New York. I used to love this place, with passion. But for some reason, I’m not really sure what happened.. I think I’m starting to lose my desire to live here. When it comes to ambition, I still have the drive to make it happen as a fucking writer. In terms of places to move, I was thinking of Berlin, Stockholm, or Copenhagen. Anywhere that’s dark and cold, is where my heart it.

But recently, I’ve been partying like a rockstar from Woodstock during the 60’s. I went out to Alphabet City at some bar that I don’t even remember the name of, then ran into some guy named Mike from California. He happens to be from the same district in L.A. where I was living, in Hollywood. He invited back to his apartment on East 5th street and 2nd Avenue to do some coke and smoke weed. We then proceeded to SOLAS BAR where they have a live DJ on the backroom that spinned EDM tracks. I enjoyed myself a little bit, dancing by myself, conversing with random strangers. It was fun. At around 3 AM, I decided to go home. While I was on the subway, I was thinking to myself, where the fuck did it all go? My writing has gone stale, and I have no fucking clue on what to do with my fucking life anymore. Maybe try out a new dream? Or maybe what I really need right now is to reinvent my New York City dream. When a dreamer comes to New York, the city itself is a major factor on whatever it is that you want to do.

The next day, a series of cluster fucks started happening. My psychologist recently dropped me because she decided to stop working after 6 PM on weeknights, that’s bad news for me since I will no longer have a professional listener to analyze my fucked up life. After that, I recently heard a rumor going around the office that the law firm where I work as a records clerk is about to do some massive lay offs and they’re gonna start with entry level jobs which includes my position. So I started looking for new office work, I emailed resumes, mostly to hedge funds here in Manhattan. But a part of me is still paranoid. The fact that my dreams are like a sinking fleet. I needed to reinvent my ambition immediately. I need to find something new. I went to the Lincoln Center in Upper West Side and sat by the fountain. I reflected to myself about my next big move. I’ve thought of returning to the performing arts arena and get back to writing plays. But that didn’t sound good because I have already tried for about four years. Then something came to me, an image of Charlie Chaplin hanging to the hands of giant clock from one of his silent films. He wasn’t just an actor, he’s a performance artist. I figured that it’s so much easier to sell your work when it’s visual rather than cerebral like writing. That very moment, my phone rang, it was a recruiter from Goldman Sachs calling about a position I applied for last week. So I did set up an interview with them for next week and then felt this rush about a new beginning, that includes a new endeavor along the way. New York life is fucking ironic, just when you thought this bright eyed city is spitting you out, new things start happening and assures you to stay.