I live on the edge of a flood zone, thankfully just out of reach of the flood waters, but close enough to watch it cascade down 1st Avenue from my window, which it did during Hurricane Sandy. After the sun went down, I was treated to a light show in the distance. A transformer had blown and for about 10 seconds, lit the skyline green. About 15 minutes later, my power went out. One of my last messages to my friends before my internet went was “uh, did anyone else see that explosion???”.
The power, heat, and water didn’t come back for more than a week. While I happened to be on the right side of the flood zone divider, I was on the wrong side of the power grid. The building next to mine got power back within a few days. While I could live without power, we didn’t have any running water for showers or gas for cooking. Every few days we traveled to a family member’s house to shower, but with school canceled and the city still recovering there wasn’t much to do except stay home and read. At night I tried to read by candlelight. It’s not as glamorous as some people make it out to be. I strained my eyes a bit and spilled candle wax onto a library book. Also, Halloween, the best holiday, was ruined.
The damage to the residential buildings in the area overall was minimal, which, despite my complaining, I’m very thankful for. However, the hospitals in the neighborhood were not as lucky. The immediately visible damage was that one had its playground destroyed and the therapy birds that lived there were traumatized and dispersed to become home pets, unable to handle being in a semi-public space anymore. As far as I know, the playground space became a construction site for a new area of the hospital, which wasn’t completely until fairly recently. The storm itself was a harrowing experience for Bellevue hospital, as at first it appeared that the backup generators were working fine, until the basement flooded, cutting off fuel to certain floors’ generators. Patients needed to be evacuated, but the elevators were down, so they had to be carried down the stairs. After a few days of gradual evacuation, the hospital remained closed, and the staff scattered. Even after reopening, it appeared that some of the staff had taken permanent positions elsewhere, and the quality of care in the aftermath had declined a little, from personal experience there.

When I first heard that “Superstorm Sandy” was going to come and wreak havoc on New York City, I thought that the weather reporters were probably just overreacting. As Sandy began to approach the city, l was working on my computer, still skeptical that this storm would have any significant impact. And that’s when the power went out.

For me, it actually started out kind of fun. School was cancelled, which was kind of nice. During the days, my mom and I walked up to a Starbucks with power on 34th Street to recharge our devices and ourselves. We explored the post-Sandy city, talking about what had happened and observing the damage. And during the evenings, I spent a lot of time with my friend and downstairs neighbor. We used various flashlights and lighting-up Harry Potter magic wands to illuminate the apartment and recorded a little radio show called “Crazy No Power Times” in which we talked and made jokes about Sandy, among other topics.

But eventually, it began to get tiring and a little stressful. We weren’t sure when our power and heat would come back, and we heard about other neighborhoods in the city that had been hit even worse. When Halloween rolled around and the city still hadn’t recovered, I was disappointed that the storm had ruined a holiday I really enjoyed (and a chance to get lots of candy). I started looking foward to going back to school. I just wanted my life to start up again.

When the power returned, I was relieved that the whole experience was over. But I was glad to have been through it, because it taught me about how to make the best of bad situations and made me grateful for the everyday pleasures of electricity.

If I had to make a list of all the things I hate, waking up at 6AM to go to work would be in the top five. All I ask is for a peaceful train ride but on one cold Saturday morning, a homeless man decided to urinate on the train. I was sitting next to where the man was standing and if I had turned my head slightly, no doubt I would have seen an unpleasant sight. I noticed people moving away from where I was sitting and my sister, who was sitting next to me, told me that we needed to move and that I shouldn’t turn around. I asked my sister why and she said because someone was peeing next to me and so we moved to the other side of the car. I was so stunned by what had happened, (it doesn’t take much to set me off), that it took me a while to register that a fight had broken out. A large man with black hair, very gothic looking clothes, and long fingernails (whom I had seen on previous train rides) was trying to tell the homeless man to get off the train because he did not belong on it. Naturally, the homeless man remained in the car and when the doors opened to the 145^th Street station, the man with the long fingernails tried and failed to physically force the homeless man off the train. The doors closed, we were on our way to 125^th Street, and the yelling continued. We were held on 125 and then told to get out of the car and move to a different car. I don’t remember what happened to the homeless man but I do remember feeling a little heavier that day. While I understand that it was nasty and inappropriate, part of me wonders whether the man was aware of these legal, but more importantly social restrictions. Was he purposefully trying to disrupt the morning commute to get a car to himself or was unaware that what he did wasn’t appropriate? The homeless are the pariah of society and are often treated as less than human. What people tend to forget is that it could very easily be their family member or even them in their place; it can happen to anyone. This is not to say that I do not avoid getting into cars with homeless people sleeping on them (because I’m very sensitive to smells), but I will never see them as anything but humans who have somehow found themselves with no home in one of the most expensive cities in the US. If they cannot find or afford a home, if they do not belong on public transportation, and if they do not belong in the streets (often being told to move by authorities), then where do they belong in the meantime?

Hurricane Sandy hit New York City when I was a sophomore in high school.  I can barely remember the darkness of the sky or the howling of the winds, but the ominous feeling that surrounded that week is something I will never forget. While a week without school is something any student would normally be overjoyed about, there was an air of unsettlement. Every day, we waited to see if the greatest city in the world was truly great enough to overcome the devastation. And every day, we learned more and more about just how much damage was done.

Eerily enough, my street was not damaged. No power lines went down, no flooding occurred, no windows were broken by debris in the high speed winds. Yet stepping off my little side street was like walking into a battlefield. The streets around us had all lost power, large tree branches had crashed into more than a few houses, and cars were either dented from flying garbage cans, or partially submerged. My parents went out during a moment of calm in the middle of the storm out of curiosity. They said the air was scarily still, and scarily quiet. After the storm, this air returned.
This air killed the vibe of Halloween and was still around by the next weekend. A friend had her quincenera scheduled for that Saturday, and half of the guests didn’t show up due to the storm. Even her best friend missed the party due to the gas shortage. While it was a fun night, it was very unsettling to be the only car on the highway for long stretches of time. While I am lucky to not have been impacted heavily by the storm, it was an eye opening experience. It was the first time I had felt the city fall to its knees since 9/11.