My name, for the intents and purposes of this class, is Michelle Hernandez. I am a Dominican-born, United States citizen. I grew up in Washington Heights in the building right next to my elementary school and I made sure all of my friends knew it. I am interested in studying biology and tutor students at my old high school Manhattan Center for Science and Mathematics. I like to think that I got my passion for science from my father, as he studied forestry in Honduras and is the only family member who understands what I am saying when I talk about my science classes. I’m not quite sure what I want to do for the rest of my life and I’ve been trying (and failing) to convince myself that this is normal for someone my age. However, my fear of ending up with a career that does not fascinate me outweighs my fear of not knowing so I would rather take my time to figure it out. I also realize that I’ve been using ‘I’ a lot in this response, so I apologize.

There are many things in that keep me up at night. One of those things is not knowing what exactly my future holds, as stated above. Another is how in the name of apple pie an uninformed celebrity won one the presidential election. But above all, what troubles me is how researchers can narrow down their interest to such specific parameters. I volunteer in a research lab and every second I spend there, I wonder why my mentor has decided to work with this specific strain of strep. My dream is to reach that level of passion for something. Oh! Another thing that keeps me up at night is how people can eat green apple Jolly Ranchers. They’re just wrong.

My Terrible Adventure

I have had a variety of mass transit experiences. “This bus is not in service” or “this train is delayed due to train traffic ahead” or my all time favorite, “this train will be making all local stops; please stand clear of the closing doors” are some of the annoyances I hear and/or see nearly every day. However, there was one day when the MTA really out did themselves. I have had inconvenient and uncomfortable train rides home, but this particular day’s commute has to be my worst to date.

The particular day in January over this Winter semester escapes my memory, but I recall it was cold and the calm before the storm of rush hour. I was leaving my tutoring session at Harlem Renaissance High school with the firm intention of catching the 5:35pm 55 Blue Line bus leaving from Dyre Avenue heading towards Cross County. Anyone who lives in the outskirts of the Bronx or Westchester County understands that buses come every half hour and leave within the same minute they arrive. The bus schedule is a photo that never gets deleted from my gallery no matter how often my phone reminds me of how much storage I don’t have. I have a talent of catching the particular uptown 5 train that arrives at the last time a minute or two after my precious bus leaves because of ‘train traffic ahead’, but today I was determined to catch that bus for two reasons: 1. It was time I took back the power over my life the MTA steals from me and sugar coats with automated apologies and 2. I was really hungry.

Hopping around and over the wet spots on the stairwell and strategically avoiding the overly friendly bums asking for a swipe, I swipe my card at the turnstile and proceed down another set of stair to the uptown 4,5, and 6 tracks. Catching an uptown train at 125th is a blessing and a curse. On one hand it is the last stop before the Bronx on all three lines so travel time isn’t terrible on a good day. However, on the other hand, it can feel like the entire borough is trying to go home at the same time so my chances of getting on the first 5 train are slim to none. Elbowing my way through the thick mob of people, I knew this wasn’t just rush hour congestion; something was wrong.

For every three uptown 4 trains there is one uptown 5 train — maybe, so my eyes are always glued to the screen displaying the estimated times of arrival. Of course, the 5 train wasn’t displayed at all which meant that when it came ( or should I say if it came considering the 5 train has a habit of rerouting) it was going to packed with annoyed travelers from previous stops. Great. Within 25 minutes three 4 trains come and go and the board has to display the next arriving 5 train. Ultimately, I know that my commute is susceptible to the MTA’s surprises, but today just wasn’t the day. It was uncomfortably hot and humid and I could hear the rowdy school kids through my music (both head buds were working too, might I add) for me to ignore the unfair truth that within the last half hour people who entered the station after me were on their way home and I was still standing the same spot. I guess the MTA could sense my frustration because this announcement followed my realization: “Due to a power outage at 138th Street Grand Course, uptown 5 trains are running with delays. Some uptown 5 trains are running to 138th Street, for further train service transfer to the 4 train.”

I will never understand why it took 30 minutes for the operator to share that information, but at least now I knew that a 5 train was definitely coming. After some time a 5 train finally arrived and it said it was heading to Eastchester Dyre Ave. There was barely space for the angry passengers already on the train, but I pushed and shoved my onto that train. I even took my book-bag off which something I never do in the fear of being of squished into an awkward position. Someone’s stomach was on my shoulder and my right arm was temporarily paralyzed by bag, but I was finally on a the train and it was moving. The train dispatcher crawls his way from 125th to 138th and stops—the engine. “ALL PASSENGERS MUST EXIT THE TRAIN. THIS TRAIN IS NOW OUT OF SERVICE. NO PASSENGERS.”

At this point I’m nine miles past annoyed. I am 50 shades of angry along with all of Harlem and the Bronx on 138th Street’s slender platform. Obscenities are filling the air, snaps are being recorded and people with an alternative route are leaving the station. I check my watch and it’s 10 mins to 5:00pm. Within 50 minutes, I have only traveled one stop. Just one. To make matters worst the train I was just kicked off can’t move. Million dollar question: Why can’t the train move ? Answer: there’s a power outage at 138th Street Grand Course. This may sound familiar because I already mentioned this tid bit of information much earlier in this recount when the MTA first notified the public of this malfunction before they expertly drove the train, that I fought to get on, on the very track that has no power. The conductor, in all of his almighty wisdom, told us to go back downtown to 125th and take an uptown 4 train to 149th Grand Course and transfer to an Eastchester Dyre bound 5 train. Essentially, I was going back to where I started.

I wouldn’t have been so heated had I been negligent. I paid attention to where the train was going. It said to Eastchester Dyre Ave; I saw the opportunity and I took it. But, the MTA lied to me and didn’t even have the decency to ‘apologize for any inconvenience’. Defeated and cheated, I took the next downtown train back to 125th Street. I have never felt so dumb in my entire life as when I did marching up the steps at 125th to the uptown tracks. I was ashamed to be there again. Officially rush hour now, I wasn’t even going to try to push my way to the front of the crowd. I was just going to wait. In all of this time, the devil tried to tempt me. The Metro North was down the block and wouldn’t have to deal with this ridiculousness any longer. But, my foolish pride told me “NO!” I pay too much for a monthly with the constant threat of fare rising to $3.00 just to pay the ON PEAK fare of another train system. I no longer cared that I missed my bus and was gonna miss the next one at 6:15 at the rate the trains were moving. Even if Jesus came before my train did, I was going to wait.

A couple of 4 trains leave me at 125th Street, but I finally board one and get off, as instructed by our trusted MTA workers, at 149th Street Grand Course. Standing on the platform at 149th Street, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that within 2 hours I had traveled one stop on the 5 in both directions and one stop on the 4 train. If only I had some foresight that would have revealed this fiasco, I could’ve fought my way onto a 4 train to begin with. I called my dad to notify him of how far I am away from home because the idea of still catching a bus after this debacle disgusted me. Around 6:20pm I entered a 5 train that was actually headed to Eastchester Dyre Avenue. My lower back ached from the standing and my stomach wasn’t any less empty now than it was at 4:00pm. Luckily, God rewarded me with a seat so I could sleep through all the unnecessary stops. It took me nearly 3 hours to travel what is supposed to be a 1 hour and 15 minute commute. The MTA never fails to disappoint me. I instill all of my faith in them and they more times than not, let me down in some way, shape or form. If there is anything I learned that wretched day is that the MTA has the power to reach levels of dissatisfaction I didn’t know I possessed.  

My name is Jaclyn Bernstein; I am in my third year of the Macaulay honors program at Hunter College. I am majoring in environmental studies, with a concentration in policy and resource management. In addition, I am double minoring in international relations and public policy. I grew up in a suburb of Philadelphia – Newtown, Pennsylvania, and moved to New York with the hopes of eventually securing an internship with the United Nations Environmental Programme.

Top three things about living in NYC:

1. NYC is a good place to learn. Both in terms of basket weaving and humanity.
2. I like unexpectedly encountering parades and protests. Most places it is hard to organize 100 people into an event. The wonder of population density.
3. If a food, an art form, a culture, or a subculture exists, it exists here.

Bottom three things about living in NYC:

1. It is oddly difficult to actually meet people – that is to form meaningful friendships with classmates and non-classmates alike.
2. I dislike catcalling – it is the greatest contributor to a feeling of insecurity living in the city – far more than the shadowy threat of a terrorist attack.
3. The air, soil, and light pollution, and how most times I don’t even notice it.

My most memorable transportation experience was repeated several times over the course of months. In the fall of my sophomore year, I procured a fantastic internship with the National Park Service at Floyd Bennett Field in the Gateway National Recreation Area. It was well paying, interesting and fun work that intersected well with my chosen career field. However, it was a two-hour commute each way between the dorm and the farthest outskirts of Brooklyn. Over the course of several months, I discovered a truth that some people learn earlier in life and many learn later – commuting is horrible. I rode two trains, one bus, and walked about 30 minutes a few times a week. While public transportation generally makes my life easier, it was there I learned the unseen time drains found in transferring and waiting, transferring and waiting. I sometimes paid to travel for the same amount of time I was paid to work. I was lucky it was only a part-time job and I was able to transition many of my work hours into designing the website. Not everyone has the same option.

My name is Glenn Collaku. I was born in Durres, Albania and was raised by my grandparents in Albania for about 5 years until I joined my parents in the United States. My parents and I lived in Queens for 4 years, which is where I learned to speak English, and then later moved out to Long Island where we currently live. I grew up in a household that strongly valued learning and was encouraged to have a strong work ethic. Once I began middle school, I joined the football team and later wound up joining every sports team that I possibly could. Sports and physical activity, in general, have been crucial to making me the person I am today. Since it was expected of me to do well in school, I had the overachieving mindset in the sports that I played as well, and it has carried over to my continued exercise now. I am a Nutrition and Food Science Major who plans to attend graduate school for Physical Therapy. Something I enjoy about New York City is the vast number of experiences to be had. New York City has almost everything, from eccentric dancers on the streets to some of the most impressive technological and engineering feats in the world. I also enjoy the fact that there is no shortage of opportunities in New York City. There are very few limits on what you can do or achieve if you work hard and recognize the opportunities. The subway system is also very convenient, despite the number of complaints people have about it. Since I haven’t lived in the city for long, I do not have many qualms, but the major issues involve the filth, smell and overall raggedness of certain areas. Many parts of the city look almost futuristic in terms of technology and appearance but some neighborhoods look neglected, and to some extent that cannot be helped because of the lack of wealth in those areas.

Transit Experience:

There are many bad experiences that can be experienced on the subway, but I would prefer to focus on an experience that made me and my friends laugh at the time. I try to maintain as positive an outlook on things as I can, so there is no need to harp on negatives. My friends and I ride the train every day from our dorms, and subsequently, the ride is usually monotonous and boring. Being relatively young people gave us the opportunity to watch Spongebob growing up, and this show wound up being the surprising catalyst of laughter in an otherwise quiet subway car. A teenager who was sitting down suddenly stood up and yelled: “What are they selling?”. In any other situation, most people would not get the allusion to Spongebob, but somehow at the same time I yelled back “Chocolate”, 5 or 6 other people did as well. We all started laughing at the fact that we answered back in near unison. I found this particularly interesting and doubt I will forget it for a long time because New York City is known for being a cold and unfriendly place but this insignificant moment shows how various random people in a reputably cold place actually do have common ground. Numerous other similarities can be found between the seemingly isolated residents of New York City, and despite this one being simple and meaningless, it was a memorable experience of connection and camaraderie in a place whose inhabitants are stereotyped as rude and unfriendly.

Glenn Collaku

Second Homes

by Juliana Maronilla

My father is from the Philippines (Manila). When he was in high school, he applied to several Ivy-League schools as a confident bright student. He got accepted into University of Pennsylvania and moved to America to study there for 4 years. Once he had completed four years at UPenn, he moved again to California, to work.There he met my mother*, who was studying at a California university, and they soon married. It wasn’t long though, before my father decided to go to graduate school, this time in Michigan at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Eventually, after having my sister and me, my father and mother moved to Scarsdale, NY (for work). We have been living there ever since.

I was born in Los Angeles, California, lived in Michigan for a short period and resided  in Scarsdale for 15 years. I grew up reading a lot of novels, swimming on several swim teams and attending a lot of church events. In particular, I went to a Christian camp with my family every year. I was a quiet child with braces, glasses and black hair. I played the cello in school and classical piano outside of school in the midst of a busy life. I enjoyed cooking and baking and eating healthy.

Now I am a student at Hunter College. I am a chemistry major on the pre-med track. I still am involved in the Christian and music community and travel back and forth from Scarsdale to the city. Moreover, I have been met with so much diversity at Hunter. I know only a handful of Hunter students from Westchester, as most are from the city. One of these students is in Hunter’s InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, a club which I regularly attend. Another is an Afghan immigrant with ties to the Scarsdale High School orchestra, which I was part of in high school. Another is from my high school (we don’t talk). Another is a member of my home church, Ridgeway Alliance Church and a recent transfer to Hunter.

Several things I hate about the city involve people. I hate how isolated it can feel. I hate how normal diversity appears. And I hate how crowded the subways and Hunter halls can be.

Several things that I love about the city also involve people. I love how people exist on every block, and one never is alone when walking long distances. I love seeing the diversity at Hunter College. I believe it’s beautiful, because it’s a reality I never saw in my hometown. Moreover, I love the relative space amongst people-the fact that people can be friendly strangers and don’t necessarily have to be in each other’s business.

My parents came to America and at first viewed it like a foreign land. Unfamiliar and strange with different buildings and landscapes. Lacking their immediate family and hometown friends. Although I do not know what their experience was necessarily like, I feel like living in a city environment instead of the suburb community that I was part of for 15 years has provided me with a glimpse. The distance between Scarsdale and Grand Central via the Bronx River Parkway is only 23.5 miles, but the scenery, vibe and people are different. Coming to Hunter was mentally a nauseating experience, but over time it became my second home.

…

My Thoughts On the Subway (+MetroNorth train)

When I first came to the city in Fall 2015, I was very confused with the subway maps. The different colored lines and letters confused me, and I only recognized the green 6 line (between the 23rd/28th station and Hunter’s station). At the end of freshman year, I got the hang of the subway system. This year, like many Hunter students, I have relied heavily on the subway for transportation. Even more, I am using it to travel between Westchester and Manhattan. When I was a freshman, I always utilized the MetroNorth Railroad to go home, but I now take the Woodlawn 4 subway almost as frequently as the Grand-Central/North White Plains train. The Woodlawn 4-subway and the MetroNorth train are both boring trips to me as I travel without friends or family and don’t talk with anyone.

The Woodlawn 4-subway is more crowded than the MetroNorth, and provides a more awkward orientation as passengers face each other in a close arena. The Woodlawn-4 subway is also a longer trip; while the MetroNorth train takes 45 minutes, the subway can take up to an hour. Nevertheless, I believe the differences balances out. Even though the MetroNorth is a more comfortable and roomy trip, it often leaves me feeling isolated (unless I am taking a crowded 7:10 AM train on a Monday morning). And, the MetroNorth is pricier than the Woodlawn subway, $5-$9 more expensive. Moreover, the coziness in the Woodlawn subway makes it pleasurable to someone from a mostly empty-feeling suburb area. In general, I enjoy the subway rides, and believe it is a very unique experience.

Coming home from Hunter one day late in the evening, immediately after a particularly demoralizing exam, I took the 6 train downtown as I do every day. I happened to be on the train next to another person from my class as often happens when a class lets out and a gaggle of Hunter students pile onto the 6. We made small talk about the exam, but eventually settled into a somewhat uncomfortable silence. Someone started talking loudly across the car, which is not too uncommon on the subway, so I ignored it for a bit, until it became obvious that the source of the noise was moving closer to my end of the car. It turned out that the source of the noise was a middle-aged man, who was clearly very drugged up, shouting about his breakup. Still, somehow not too much of an uncommon sight on the subway, so I ignored it. Finally, the man pulled his wallet out, hugged the woman next to him and yells that at least money will never betray him, and  started handing out crisp 20 dollar bills. Now finally it was an unusual sight, namely because I’m not sure I know anyone who carries around the amount of money he had on him on an average night out. The uncomfortable silence between my classmate and I  only deepened. The tourist couple next to us laughed nervously, not knowing what to make of the scene. About half of the car had perked up and were laughing in disbelief or enjoyment, and the other half remained stony-faced.

My classmate and I both kept neutral expressions plastered on our faces, and without a word to him, unsure if I should say goodbye after such a long silence and with the car still in chaos, I stepped off the train at my stop.