Personal Narrative: My Visit To New York City

I remember how quickly my grandmother navigated through the crowds so gracefully, her carnation pink coat fluttering through a sea of monochromatic greys and blacks. She was a southern belle who easily integrated into the fasted pace life of a New Yorker. She moved to New York at a later point in her life, but that never seemed to slow her down. She was the epitome of sophistication, brilliance, and commitment. To me, she represented everything a woman ought to be. I was eight when I went to visit my grandmother in New York City for the first time. I saw then that this city changed her life and I knew it was beginning to change mine.
My cautious mother grabbed my hand, “stay close,” she told me, “this isn’t like back home. This isn’t the safest place for a child to walk without holding their mother’s hand.” My mother didn’t like the city; she didn’t understand it. My opinion differed from hers. I had never been to a place where I felt so safe and so liberated. I wanted to roam the streets, I wanted to grab every opportunity the city placed into my small hands by the helm, partly out of naivety, partly because I can still remember how I felt like I was finally at home. More so than I ever felt back in our small west Texas town. I can remember how unnaturally comfortable I felt …show more content…
They are incessant. I told my mother that I no longer had specific dreams about living in the city, all that mattered was that I make it there—although, The Plaza dream was one I couldn’t seem to leave behind. Besides that, all I could ever think about was living in the city. After that summer, I lived and breathed New York City, like the lights I was incessant. While other girls my age were day dreaming about boys, I was day dreaming about the city and the opportunities it held, waiting for me, beckoning me towards it. New York City had become my newest aspiration, and someday I planned to spend the rest of my life in “The Big