Although Hurricane Sandy was one of the costliest hurricanes in U.S history, second only to Hurricane Katrina, I was fortunate to have lived in a neighborhood that did not suffer any extensive damage. I remember that the first night the storm arrived in New York, it felt like a normal weekday, save for the fact that school was canceled the next day. My friends and I were chatting on Skype, aware of the howling winds and heavy rain but oblivious to the damage it was causing in other parts of the city. At one point, we even facetiously complained that our Internet had become slow and unreliable because of the storm.

The next morning, my parents’ friends and our relatives called to see if we were okay. My mom raved about how glad she was to be living in Flushing; we still had our electricity, heat, and water, and not a single tree had fallen down, although a few big branches did. As we watched the news coverage of all the damage that had been done in the more coastal areas, we realized how extremely lucky we had been. In the Rockaways, people’s houses were on fire; the subway tunnels were horribly flooded; the stock market was closed for the day. I later found out that many of my friends who lived in Bayside/Little Neck area had lost electricity, and that my high school’s basement had flooded (we were right by the Hudson River in Tribeca).

Though we, the students, were ecstatic that school was canceled for the week, it was a difficult time for many more New Yorkers who had been uprooted from their homes. In retrospect, I don’t think I fully understood how dire the situation was at the time, especially because my neighborhood was not impacted as heavily as many others. Looking back at the news stories from four years ago, I’m reminded of how damaging natural disasters can be, even when you try your best to prepare for them. The next time a hurricane hits, I’ll definitely think twice before complaining about the WiFi again.

It was a hot August afternoon. My coworkers and I were walking down Main Street in Flushing, heading towards the annual end-of-summer banquet held by the prep school for which we worked. Out of nowhere, a woman stops us and asks for help. We’re not sure what she needs, so we stand to the side so we can hear better. She asked us for help finding a job, and said she had been living in a shelter with her two children. We had no clue what to say or do except apologize and continue on our way. After all, we had barely graduated high school and were lucky to have jobs ourselves, with nowhere near enough experience or connections to help a homeless woman find a job that would pay her a living wage. We had no clue why she approached us specifically, but my friend Amy thought that it may have been because we were wearing semi-formal clothes for the event, which may have led the woman to think that we had connections to white-collar office workers.

Almost two years later, I still rarely get through my day without seeing at least one homeless person. When I get back to my dorm late, I always see the usual group of people sleeping in the 23rd Street station on the 6 train. Even when I return to Flushing on the weekends, the same people I have seen for weeks or even months are sitting at their usual places on the side streets. I am fortunate enough to never have been homeless, and I don’t think anyone in my immediate family has gone through that experience either. However, I know that one life- changing event can be all it takes to push families over the edge. Though much has been done to combat homelessness in the city, it is still a major problem and, unfortunately, probably will be for the foreseeable future.

For as long as I can remember, I have lived in the same apartment building on the same street in Flushing, Queens. Even though I did live with my grandparents in China until I was four, the memories of my toddlerhood only exist as faint vignettes now.  Fortunately, I am glad to say that I have never personally had a bad experience with the NYPD. However, I do remember two instances where I have interacted with the police: the first was when the lock on our apartment door broke and we called the police out of fear that someone had broken in; the second was when my mother’s workplace was burglarized.

Both of these incidents occurred when I was still fairly young. I don’t remember the year or my exact age, but I think I was either finishing elementary school or just starting middle school – a preteen. Since my parents did not consider me old enough to stay home alone yet and they both did not get home until 8 or 9 PM, my parents paid my neighbor to pick me up from my afterschool and I ate dinner at their house on the weekdays. After dinner, I would do my homework or read books until my mom or dad came to pick me up. One night, as my mom was unlocking the door, she noticed that it seemed jammed and wouldn’t open. She tried for a good ten minutes, but the lock would not budge. Eventually, my dad got home as well and we ended up calling the police for help. They managed to get the door open, and suggested that we get a new lock because ours were nearly ten years old.

I don’t remember when the robbery at my mom’s workplace happened, but it was after the problem with our door lock. At the time, my mom worked at a nail salon in Staten Island, and she would take me with her on Sundays and I’d spend the day with her friend’s children. She and three other workers worked the opening shift, and when they walked inside the store they saw drawers strewn on the floor, chairs toppled over, and a desk lamp that was still turned on. The police were called immediately, but they took over half an hour to show up. The burglars were already gone, but we later learned that they had entered through the store’s bathroom; they dug a tunnel from the building next door through to the bathroom and had left with a few hundred dollars in cash.

In both of my encounters with the police, they were kind but professional, so even though I have heard and read about many stories of police brutality around the nation and in New York, I can’t say that I personally relate with any of those incidents. However, the fact that police officers often do use excessive force when confronting civilians is still troubling. Even though the city’s crime rate has been declining steadily, there remains room for improvement – for police and civilians alike – in the effort to keep New York safe.