The Chip of New York

Are you a real warrior?

Published in

ILLUMINATION

4 min readJan 4, 2024

I am still afraid, but I do not care. I’ve got the chip of New York in my head; I will hang tight to it. In here, I can get anything I want, even if now I don’t know how; I will solve this puzzle out.

This concrete jungle, the Big Apple, is only made for lions, warriors:

Only lions can avoid being eaten by snakes and be the ones who get the chance to survive, to be alive, to eat first.

New York is here, life goes so fast it is not fair; in this city, like Alicia Keys says ‘there is no time to waste’. Just time to find out who you are now, who you were.

Keep digging inside to figure out how to be the one you dream, the one you want, a better version of yourself.

Play your cards; this is the game of life. Jump, laugh, cry. The Big Apple will knock you down once, twice, several times;

But you get up twice, you get up all the times; you fight!

Sometimes life is hard, just laugh, love, survive. You are still here, still alive to fight with all the strength of your heart.

Seize your time; your hours won't be back:

Now you have to hold tight; hard times have arrived.

The Big Apple is here, looking for innocent souls to kill, souls to block, souls to steal. You will be chased, you are slow, but you will win this race.

Start now, do not wait; eat this apple, drink its juice piece by piece. Find your flavor, find your mood. Rotten pieces you will eat, find your taste until you don't have to throw the next piece away.

You've been poisoned, be aware:

Your soul may have gone away, left your body. Do not be scared, do not lose your head; think straight. Breathe fresh air; you will find your way.

Talk to the wind, dance with the golden leaves that are still here. Cry if you need; tears won't break you away; they will break the poison inside your brain.

You feel lost, it is okay.

It is the poison that is coming on your way, trying to kill you from inside, trying to knock you down, to steal your soul again.

Spit it out, it is not you; it is that black smoke, the black fog that is blurring your eyes once again. It is there! The shadow you don’t belong.

Sometimes, it is not New York; you hate this world. It is the black poison that is still in your soul, in your eyes, inside your lungs.

Cry away until it’s gone. Let it out. If you need to, cry some more. Get rid of the black fog; don’t let it win. You can win this battle, fight along even harder than the way before.

It is blurry, it is cold, I know; you still can not see the blue sky of New York. The black fog is still here, blocking you all; don’t stay there, keep away! Just run.