New York City has 8 million residents, which is more than the number of people living in Los Angeles, Chicago and Philadelphia combined. Yet somehow, it can be the loneliest place in the world. My mom remembers when she first came to New York City that even though she was surrounded by interesting people, she had never felt more alone. My mother does not technically count as an immigrant. But I still think that her thoughts regarding moving to New York City are valuable.
This is a migrant story of my mother’s journey from Philadelphia to New York City and how she “made it” as a New Yorker. My mother first moved to New York City in 1977 for graduate school. She remembers feeling very lonely when she first arrived, as do many newcomers to the city.
My mom comes from a huge family; she is one of nine children. To save money, she commuted from Oreland to Philadelphia all throughout college. She worked during college to pay her tuition and even when she babysat and cleaned houses in high school, she knew she could look forward to one day being independent in New York City. So you can imagine how disappointed she was when she arrived in New York and found herself without a friend or family member in sight, and very lonely. What was all of that work for if she just wanted to go back home?
My mom arrived in Manhattan eight days before graduate school started. She figured she would need time to get settled. She set up her room in her new apartment, walked around the neighborhood a bit, all within in the first day. Her stranger of a roommate had still not arrived yet and she spent the next few days alone in her new apartment, missing home. She eventually broke down and called her parents. She got on the next train to Oreland and stayed with her family for the last few days before school.
When she did go back to New York to start school, she became busy quickly enough that she sort of forgot how lonely she was. The next thing she new, my mom had some friends. The next four years went by rather quickly. She still had her moments of loneliness but home was only a couple of hours away. My mom moved back to Philadelphia after graduate school and lived there for another thirteen years. Almost all of her brothers and sisters stayed in the Philadelphia area, so she always had people around her.
These aren’t just strangers around me, these are people around me.
My mom remembers one of her first moments that defined her as a New Yorker. In a city with so many people, it is remarkable how often we run into people we know. We take it for granted how nice it can be to see a friendly face on the street in a city that can be so cold. So when my mom ran into a friend on the street, she finally felt like she was a New Yorker. “That was a very important moment for me. These aren’t just strangers around me, these are people around me. I live here. Not only do I recognize people, but people recognize me. I’ll never forget that day.”
