- About Me
My name is Breffni, a born and raised New Yorker from Astoria, Queens, who’s on a quest to both become a lawyer and to find the best bagel in the city. My father is American born, my mother not, and both were raised in Ireland and met in NYC. They met at The Breffni Bar actually, which explains my first name. The name is also derived from my mother’s favorite poem, “The Little Waves of Breffny,” which is fitting because I love to write poetry and other pieces.
While my parents have retained their brogues, they didn’t raise me or my siblings in a distinctly Irish way. I learned a handful of Gaelic words growing up and we always went to the St. Patrick’s Day parade, but beyond that, it was a typical American upbringing. I attended public school in my youth, and while my parents shocked relatives by not raising us Catholic, I still went to a Catholic high school. We took regular family vacations, including trips to Ireland, but my dad, a carpenter, was often busy working. My mom, a nanny, has been raising babies since I was a child, so I have grown up taking care of pseudo-siblings, an experience which has likely shaped my desire to become a teacher.
I would love to stay in New York City to teach and practice law, because I really do think that NYC is the greatest city in the world. I love the city’s dietary staples, like pizza and bagels, because carbs are always a great idea. I love that it is a city that never sleeps; there is always something to do, one just has to look. And I love the diversity. Walking down the street is like travelling the globe, and it is so interesting to learn about so many different cultures.
Of course, I don’t love everything about this city. I dislike how expensive it can get. Why are there so many luxury apartments when the average New Yorker can’t afford them? Why do shoebox apartments have to cost an arm and a leg? Even the corner store’s prices are skyrocketing. Secondly, I dislike the New York stereotype that suggests it’s an unsafe city and that all New Yorkers are rude. Some of us are, but still. I also dislike the inequality across neighborhoods, and the stigmas that accompany them. There is no reason that people that live on the Upper East Side or Tribeca should be thought of as better than those who live in Washington Heights. Further, there is the idea that NYC is all about Manhattan. It’s not.
- Transit experience
Everyone has a love-hate relationship with the MTA. While I have had tons of completely ordinary, uneventful trips on our city’s subways and buses, the first story that comes to mind is one that was less than ideal. Even now, I’m not exactly sure what it was, but I do know that it made me uncomfortable. In this post-“grab her by the pussy” world, acknowledging violations of personal space is a must, even on crowded trains where this space is limited.
Two years ago. January. R Train. Rush hour. I was wedged in an overflowing car that had the familiar smell of homeless person’s piss. I had the normal level of distrust that comes with a packed train, and I held my bag a little closer to my side as I read ads for breast augmentation and technical school. And then I started to feel weird. As the train made the long under-the-river trip from Lex to Queens Plaza, I couldn’t put my finger on it. And then the doors squeaked open, people shuffled off, and the weird feeling became clear. A man I hadn’t been able to see was seated in front of me, with one hand on his crotch and the other massaging my knee.
The weirdest part? The man looked offended and honestly surprised when I said, “can you f***ing not?” I quickly pushed my way to the end of the car and into the next one. It showed me that you never really know who you’re commuting with. The action of touching a knee is not inherently sexual, and there are cases where the contact has been much worse to the point of sexual assault, but sex is not the issue. The issue is that people take the advantage of crowded trains to invade the space of others.
