The Past, Present, and Future
By: Emanuela Gallo
Born and raised in Brooklyn, the borough of Manhattan has always been so close—yet so far away. It kept its distance from me, revealing itself in bits and pieces. My perception of Manhattan had more in common with tourists than fellow New York City natives. The experience, for me, consisted of yearly visits to Rockefeller Center during Christmas and high school field trips to theater shows.
It wasn’t until I began my first semester at Macaulay Honors at Baruch College that I began to understand Manhattan in its true personality. When I began taking the subway, I was nervous about missing my stops, clutching printed-out instructions in one hand and the pole in the other. Eventually, I knew my route like the back of my hand. I fearlessly walked into oncoming traffic, joining the throng of fellow pedestrians in disregarding the red crossing light.
My new life abruptly ended a mere seven months after it began. Just as I was becoming more comfortable with Manhattan, I was sent back to Brooklyn.
Over the past year, I have found myself plagued with regrets. Why did I choose the crowded cafeteria as the place to always eat my lunch? It was only a short walk to Madison Square Park. How nice it would’ve been to eat there, people-watching and taking in the sun. Or what about taking my laptop to a coffee shop instead of the library, for a change of scenery? Or take a trip to the Macaulay building? Now that I’ve sat at the same table, on the same chair, in the same room, in the same house, for both class and homework, for so long… a change of atmosphere feels like a privilege.
Why had I brought my lunch every day from home? I had access to so many new types of food—I could’ve taken advantage and broadened my horizons. Same with those fun, late-night events at the Macaulay building. What compelled me to dash home each day, instead of engaging with my peers while eating good food and doing fun activities? Why hadn’t I gone to the freshmen mixer or the Halloween party in October 2019? I treated those mandatory trips to art galleries and museums for a class like a chore, but now I wish I could go on a class field trip—even if that trip was to a classroom with no windows.
As we exit the pandemic, I have tried to turn my upset into gratitude and my regrets into ambitions.
While I haven’t been able to have these lively experiences, I have found other outlets of expression and growth. I began keeping a journal, chronicling the ‘unprecedented times’ in a way that I can show to my future children. I also rekindled my childhood love for dance. Between Zoom classes, I follow my favorite dance workout videos that I’ve found on YouTube. I have attended an infinitely higher number of social, club, and professional webinars and events. I couldn’t jump from room to room and building to building the way I am now able to do so from Zoom room to Zoom room.
The pandemic, among many other things, has acted as a grave reminder of our mortality. We are soft-bodied creatures, so vulnerable to the wickedness of the world around us. I know I am fortunate to be alive and breathing.
Looking towards the future, I make a promise to myself to chase the experiences and life I’ve lost that I crave so much. I want to try new food, join clubs, meet new people, enjoy cultural and art museums—live, breathe, touch, feel, love, and be an active participant in and architect of my life.
I have grand plans for my return to Manhattan. The lockdown has deprived us of everything; our education, jobs, social lives, safety, financial stability, and the lives of loved ones.
Yet, it cannot deprive us of our dreams.
Picture courtesy of the Macaulay Art Tank
