Lost and Found in North America

I’ve always felt wronged, that my body and soul were not really meant for one another. I believe I was stitched together in the womb like some sort of Frankenstein and pushed out before all the elements had properly bonded.
So I created a story in my head to support the mix-up and settled on this: my soul was ripped from a majestic brownstone in the Village, New York, and dumped in the body of a pale colicky baby from the Home Counties, England.
I once got asked if I was American. I took this as searing evidence and thus the notion stuck, cemented further in my mind when last December I found myself beautifully alone in the Big Apple.
Having spent 6 months exploring Canada I’d wound up in freezing Toronto, struggling to find a job and struggling even more to keep my fingers from falling off. So when my cousin suggested meeting in New York, I nearly dropped my phone in excitement.
A week later I stumbled out from the bus station and into the wintry chaos of Manhattan. There were people everywhere and the intoxicating buzz of the New Yorkers bustling past engulfed my travel weary body. I immediately bolted upright. This felt electric as if I’d finally been plugged in and switched on. “This is New York. This is it!” I kept thinking as I breathed in the city’s air, inhaled the exotic scent of possibility.
Entirely unburdened by my troubles I pranced around Nolita and Soho, swooning at all the old buildings with latte in hand. I had the day to myself and even though I’d been to New York twice before, this was my first trip alone. It was mine to do with as I pleased and knowing that I knew absolutely no one was of great comfort. Like a child not wanting to share its toy, I wanted to stay by myself swaddled up in the city’s tight and greedy embrace.
The following day however, I was joined by my cousin and we caught the ferry to Ellis Island. From the steps of the old immigration centre, I looked back on Manhattan and began envisioning myself in the shoes of the many that had climbed these stairs searching for a new beginning.
And as the coastal wind tore through my coat and my shoulder sagged from the weight of my bag, a ripple of excitement and anticipation surged down my spine. This, a city of immigrants searching to better themselves, a melting pot of aspiration where determination is your boarding pass and a dream is your meal ticket, this is what I’d been waiting for. I stood, grinning like a fool, and began rubbing my hands together. I felt right.