At first, my trip to Greenpoint is the same as my commute to school. However as pass through the stop where I usually get off and I start to get butterflies in my stomach. It is the same feeling like during take off on an airplane where your body rises but your stomach stays in place. Soon I transfer on 4 Ave. – 9 St. for the G train and my world slowly begins to change. The train itself changes, being only half the length of a normal change. I know that soon enough I’ll be back in Greenpoint where I have been dozens of times before but with each time being different and unique. There is always something changing, for better or worse, in Greenpoint just like everything is changing all over the city. These changes are already visible as the G train pulls into the station. The train that would usually be crowded with older men and women with a majority being from Poland is now crowded by younger, up-coming, people that are from a wide variety of countries.

However, as I get off the train at Nassau Ave. I realize that some things cannot possibly change. For example, the street of Manhattan Ave. is so narrow yet always filled with cars, bikes, and buses brings me joy because I know that there is no way it can change. As I walk down the street, I see the same situation that happened on the train where when once the sidewalks were always filled with many dialects of Polish but now they are few and far in between each other.

There are still a lot of shops that bring back old memories. There is the candy shop that sells a many old Polish candies. I loved being in that shop as a kid because of all the cloyingly sweet smell of chocolate and sweets. Now, I love the old fashioned set up of the store where all the candies are in bins and you can bag them up and are charged based on weight. Not many stores do this in the USA with many candies being prepackaged, however in Poland this is a common practice and I loved being able determine how much candy I want. As I continue walking I pass the old church where I used to spend major Catholic Holidays. Most of these memories are from Christmas Eve and Easter where mass was held at crazy hours, 5:00 am and 12:30 am, respectively. When there is no mass at church it is filled with older women, usually praying for the well being of themselves and their families. The church has a cool feeling to it with a light draft caused by the windows open near the ceiling. The ceiling, high and vaulted, covered in a mosaic that I remember constantly looking up at as if I was looking at God.

Further down Manhattan Ave. there is Greenpoint Ave., what I consider to be the life of Greenpoint. I turn to the left and find the main branch of the Polish-Slavic Federal Credit Union or just PSFCU. Looking at it, I notice that it has remained untouched throughout all these years. It is still supported by its white stone columns that make the entire building seem important, like it’s the White House. Right next to it is my favorite Polish restaurant, Karczma, which translates simply to inn or pub. This is my favorite place to eat because of the atmosphere. The walls are bare brick and dimly lit by lighting fixtures in the wall meant to look like candles. The tables are made out of old, gnarled wood and surrounded by benches instead of chairs. The whole place looks old-fashioned and I love it. Everything in the place reminds me of Poland, the appetizers come out on thick wooden cutting boards instead of plates just like how my grandma would make me lunch. I also remember how this is the first place I thought of when my old girlfriend asked me to take her somewhere Polish; “It doesn’t get more Polish than this”, I told her.

Next place I walk to is an old bakery, Syrena, where my grandfather used to work at when he came to America in the 50’s to make some extra money to send back home. I don’t know how it looked 50 years ago but I like to pretend it did not change. I look at the place now and imagine that is how he saw it when he was coming in to work at 4 and bake the bread for the morning masses. I hope that the only thing that changed are the faces, however I don’t know how if this is true. All I know is that whenever I ask anyone inside about my grandfather that they never heard of him not even the managers. It is a strange feeling knowing that he was there at one point put left no trace, similar to a ghost.

Walking back to the train, I feel prideful of what I saw that day. I am proud that Polish people have set up a small part of the city where I can feel closer to Poland than America. I know that many immigrants strive toward assimilation, however I am sad about the culture they leave behind when they “become American”. I remember streets in Bensonhurst that would be lined with small Italian businesses that now have been replaced by a lot of chain stores and the old businesses are a dying breed. It makes me proud of the Polish people in Greenpoint for sticking around for this long even though they are also slowly dying out. I hope that my children will be able to experience the same memories as I in Greenpoint.