How do you become a New Yorker?

You don't. You can feel like a New Yorker, you can live the majority of your life there, let's say, you're a 90 year old grandma and moved there for college, but you won't really be a true New Yorker.

Why? There are certain elements that make New York special, especially in your developmental years. I went to PS 182 for kindergarten through 2nd grade (where two of those years I was in an ESL program). For third grade I went to PS 82, both were in Jamaica, Queens. We moved the summer after third grade to Astoria, a more affluent neighborhood filled with Greeks and Italians, and so I went to PS 84 for fourth through sixth. "PS" stands for "public school" and is only used in NYC. Most other schools around the country name their schools after people, McKinley Elementary School, for example. Junior high I went to JHS 141 and then it was High School of Art & Design. 

What made the schools I went to so unique were the diversity I experienced at such a young age. During fourth grade my best friend was Peruvian and the rest of my friends/classmates were from the Philippines, Montenegro, Poland, Greece, Italy, Puerto Rico, Bangladesh, Ireland, South Korea and Brazil (those are just the ones I remember). Being around kids that were really different culturally from me helped me develop cultural sensitivity and tolerance. 

There are other things too. New York, most people forget and tend to idealize, is pretty dangerous, especially during the 80's. I wasn't allowed out, I couldn't play with the kids on the block, but that doesn't mean that the violence bubbling outside didn't directly affect me. It's the reason I spent so many hours watching tv and movies. The reason my brother had to be smuggled out of our building wrapped in a blanket and driven secretly to Maryland. I remember the graffiti that blanketed the subways, top-to-bottom cars and the interior of the subway cars covered in tags. 

The 90's were marred by the emergence of the Decepticons and later the Bloods and Crips, not to mention more homegrown gangs like DDP (Dominicans Don't Play), Nietas and Latin Kings. During my high school years I found myself visiting friends in every corner of NYC; Williamsburg, LES (the Lower East Side) and Bushwick weren't places you wanted to find yourself in late at night. 

The reason I mention those neighborhoods is because NYC has a lot of universities, hence a lot of transplants, and thus many folks that after a few years call themselves New Yorkers. And many of those folks are my friends, that's why it's a delicate subject in some ways. 

So I come back to my answer and why it's an emphatic no. I live in Madrid now, I've been here for the past three and half years. In my time here I've adapted to the way of life, I eat a typical Spanish breakfast, which is toast topped with salt, olive oil and grated tomato, and know how to order it like a local, "una barrita con tomate y un café con leche fría, porfa". I've adopted the local vernacular, have tapas all the time, know the time to have vermouth and can botellón like nobody's business. Thing is, even though I feel very madrileño, I'll never truly be one. Growing up somewhere molds you, shapes your values, develops certain instincts. Take my approach to strangers, I'd be friendly while remaining suspicious of you until it's clear you're not a threat. That's what New York does to you, it's a trait I'll have my entire life most likely. 

There are other elements too. Think of it in the opposite way, say you're from a small town, like Bar Harbor, Maine. If I move to Bar Harbor and within a few years of living there called myself a... Bar Harborian? would you take me seriously? The fact of the matter is that most folks want to be New Yorkers, or Parisiens or Madrileños, because it's glamorous and recognizable and prob because of Friends. It doesn't work in the opposite direction, however, I don't see a whole lot of folks clamoring to be considered from Fargo. 

And New York ain't that great. I should know, I've lived the first thirty years of my life there. It's infested with rats, roaches and pigeons. It's still fucking dangerous, if you find yourself outside the gentrified zones. The subway is badly run, Chinatown during the summer months smells like an open landfill and it's so goddamn expensive. I may be a cool New Yorker and but take into account that our new Prez is also a New Yawker.

So when people ask you where you're from be proud and say, "I'm from Fargo", because I'll catch you out, anyway.

Inspired by this article in the NY Times:

http://nyti.ms/2hVRB0Z

Kicked Out

So I got kicked out of my apt. 

Saturday evening, as I was preparing my grocery list and skyping with my gf, I get a What's App message from my roommate (anyone who has lived in Spain knows that What's App is king here, you can even use it as a verb). He said in the message that he wanted to have a word, it was important and he wanted to do it over a drink. Bet. 

I didn't have a clue what it was about but I knew it was regarding the flat. I arrived at the Cafe del Teatro, a couple blocks from home, and found him working on his laptop. The cafe was chic yet homely, hipster except for the fact that there weren't hipsters there but local folks. 

We jumped right into it, I didn't have time to dilly dally. 

"Larry, I'm asking you to leave the apt. The reason is because I'm sick of living in the tiniest room in the flat and want one of the larger bedrooms. I know how this goes, I've been kicked out of a place in the past and was given little time so, because of it, I'm giving you a month to find another place." We'll call him Asier, out of respect for his privacy, and he said all this matter-of-factly and once he said it I knew that this was a final decision, not something to be discussed or debated. 

"Tell me the truth, Asier, what's the real reason for kicking me out, be straight with me. If it's a bigger room why are you kicking me out and not one of the other roommates?"

"The main reason is because I want a bigger room... though I won't deny that our prior conflict didn't influence my opinion. We've had our run-ins but that's not the main reason."

"Look, Asier, I'm not gonna mince words, you're fucking me over. You and I had a verbal contract, back in August, that I would stay until the end of June. I wasn't planning on deviating from that and now I have to look for a new place, to me this is coming out of left field. I knew we had our differences but I also thought we'd moved past it."

"Well, the other day I was in my room and you were in the kitchen with a friend when she began to say, 'Is this the same flat where you were arguing with your friend...' and then you cut her off. Well, I heard the whole thing and it really bothered me and I was about to come out of my room and say something but thought better of it."

"You're right about that, that's how it went and I admit that that was silly of her to do but what I told her wasn't shit-talking because I have no problem telling that to your face. Furthermore, Asier, I understand that this is a decision you've taken and I have to simply live with it and move on but I want to be very clear with you: you're fucking me over."

During this convo I was texting on What's App with a friend and simply told her to come meet me there, that way we could both go to the supermarket together (obviously prior to getting hit with this news). When she arrived (and had no clue what our convo was about) she reminded him of the dinner and this guy had the gall to show up. Picture it, you kick someone out and then go to the dinner that they've prepared. I don't blame my friend for her ignorance, she had no clue, but he lacks decency, in my opinion. 

We had a great time at the dinner, I made pollo guisado and platano maduro (comfort food for me, my friend wanted Cuban food and I said, "I can make that at home and it'll be cheaper that way"). I decided that since it was the plan we'd made I wasn't going to let the bad news spoil what could be a great night and so it was. 

He'd given me a month to look for a new flat, and that was the 22nd of January when he told me, but I knew that I wasn't going to use up that month, the goal was to get the hell out as soon as possible. I began looking that Sunday, posting a status on FB letting my friends know that I'm looking for a room and reaching out to them individually but it took its toll. It all came as a shock, especially after I spoke to my other roommates about the matter, they had no clue that he was so unhappy in the situation. They also were upset because in our previous (and sole) roommate meeting he made it clear that even though he was the leaseholder he didn't want to consider himself above us. Making such a unilateral move made it all too clear that they weren't peers anymore and changed the dynamic. 

You're free to make what you want of the situation. Personally, I take this as an affront on two levels. Firstly, on a professional level: we had a verbal agreement that I would stay until the end of June. He broke this agreement and that's unlawful, plain and simple, I can give a shit about his flimsy reasons. Secondly, on a friendship level: you don't do that to your friends. You don't. At least, by making this decision, you make it clear that you're no longer friends. I knew this was the case and I wanted to give him a piece of my mind but I also knew that, just in case he chooses to be vindictive, I need to hold my tongue until I get my security deposit back. 

I searched and searched but to no avail. I sent many messages, I called some of them and went to see some but nothing clicked. Monday the 30th I woke up with a knot in my stomach, I had 48 hours to find a place and none of my friends were able to let me stay with them, well, one did offer his couch and for that I'm grateful. That Monday morning I debated looking for an Airbnb or placing all my efforts on finding a place. The first place that I saw I called and within a half hour I was in her flat checking out the place. It wouldn't normally be my first choice, if I'm going to be honest, but with time running out I had no choice. I decided to lock it up, be done with it and in one fell stroke had gotten a room. 

Once I'd locked up the room, handed in my deposit and gotten the keys I knew it was just a matter of packing and organizing the move. That and getting my deposit back as well as being brutally honest with him regarding what transpired. 

I had been rehearsing for days what I was going to tell him, each time I told a friend my story I would end with what I was dying to tell him and that moment came Thursday afternoon. 

That afternoon he began by asking me if I'd cleaned the bathroom per house rules of cleaning, to which I replied "no". He proceeded to lecture me on why that was one of the reasons why he was kicking me out, that that affects living together and I bit my tongue (because I can give a shit about cleaning this week, I had this tiny thing called moving out of the place I called home for the past 7 months coming up). 

Once that money was in my pocket I let him have it. 

"Listen, Asier, I need to get this off my chest before I leave and I want you to know before I begin that this isn't going to be a conversation or debate, this is a speech and I just want you to listen." 

I reiterated the two points I made above and told him very clearly that "we're not parting ways as friends and that what he did was wrong". Within a couple of minutes I'd made my points and was ready to leave but he also wanted to get something off his chest and, out of courtesy, I listened patiently. He spoke for damn near 10 min, and even threw me a curveball, mentioning that he was going through something and that he thought I'd been passive-agressive (which makes me laugh, I think I'm the last person you could accuse of that, it smelled of the pot calling the kettle black if you ask me) but aside from that it was regurgitated points. After ten min listening to him I cut him off since I still hadn't eaten breakfast and had to head to work. 

As I was eating my croissant and sipping my coffee I was mulling over what happened when I received a What's App message from him. In it he said that perhaps my sense of smell is off and that my room smelled and made a couple other points. Whether that was truly the case or not I thought it a low blow and cowardly, he didn't have the nerve to say it to my face when he had the chance. I was two seconds away from responding but I thought it imprudent, I won't get pulled into a tit for tat. Good riddance. 

As I reflect on my experience there are a few lessons. Living with friends is a dangerous circumstance, it can turn out well or it can end disastrously. I would think long and hard before making such a decision. I do need to be more considerate with my roommates, though it's worth noting that my other two roommates were sad at my leaving and angry with him. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm aware of my shortcomings and am always ready to listen to any criticism, no matter how harsh, but I do think where I'm lacking I make up for it in other ways. I should've signed a contract, something, a verbal contract ain't worth shit and now I'm left to pay the price for it. 

Ultimately, I think in the future I'll either live on my own or with my girl, this roommate shit is for the birds.