Member-only story
7 Years in NYC
A Love Story
I lived in New York City for seven years, and honestly, it was pure chaos. Sometimes, I wondered if it was robbing me of my soul. But I kept going back, thinking things would change. Just like with any abusive relationship, I thought New York would finally become the place I imagined when I was just a wee lad. I was coming from Munich, where I lived in a good neighborhood, and moved to Harlem, north of 110th street. The drastic change from a safe environment to a dangerous one was jarring, and it affected every aspect of my life, from my schooling to my daily safety.
Moving to NYC with high hopes, I faced constant hardships, from gunshots to collapsing ceilings. My school environment was also harsh, as I was often called “blackinese” due to my mixed heritage. My mom was African-American, and my dad was German-white. To kids who had never left the island of Manhattan, the concept of an Afro-German was bewildering. I attended a parochial school in Manhattan, where many of the kids grew up in poverty and had parents with limited education. My mother, despite being a single parent, had a good education and was able to set me up for success in ways these kids weren’t. But still, I was an outsider.
Living in Harlem meant dealing with gang violence, drug deals, and mentally ill individuals. We lived next to a homeless shelter, and my older sister and I…
