So, remember when I said in a previous post that everything I was afraid of has already happened? Well, I might’ve been exaggerating a bit. Turns out, I’m basically more like Steve Jobs, there’s always “one more thing.”
I came to New York the way most people probably do, full of dreams and goals, plans and hopes.
On top of that, I was so f@cking in love, it almost hurt. So without thinking too much, I rented out my home, bought yet another plane ticket, sold my car, said goodbye to my family and friends and flew my dogs across the ocean with a pet relocation company to be with him. I even happily paid for a prenup for his peace of mind, after we decided on my second day here that we were getting married and starting a new life together in New York.
While I was getting ready for this future, trying to be a good pre-wife, spending my days cleaning the extreme, unbeliveable mess he lived in, he barely came home and didn’t spend time with me at all. I accepted being alone all the time, and I flinched every time the door opened, wondering whether the sweet, loving version of him was coming home, or the cold, distant one who acted like I didn’t even exist. I walked right into the trap. The more he pulled away, the harder I tried to please him, like a little puppy desperate for affection. Instead of writing my PhD, doing research, or working on my new book, I just kept tidying up after him like some kind of robot, just trying to please him.
And once the place was finally more or less liveable, and I gently started to express my dissatisfaction about his ignorance and my fears about our future, boom, just like that, his big love story was suddenly over.
So now here I am, in a completely empty apartment, with a wedding dress and two dogs, one of whom is still scarily wheezing from the pneumonia she picked up on the flight. I’ve got a toothache and no idea where to go to the doctor, and I’m kind of anxious that he might kick me out of here because this new place is in his name, even though I’m the one paying for it.
Yesterday I was a fiancée, and for a second I felt that now I even don’t know who I’am. I gave up everything for him, but he didn’t care and cancelled our plans last minute. I was terrified, exploited, drained, heartbroken, used, scared, and so f@cking alone, surrounded by those bare walls.
I cried through two entire nights. Then I got bored of crying, so I didn’t cry anymore, I just stared at the naked walls from the floor where I’ve been sleeping the past few days. Then I got bored of staring.
And then something flipped in me. I stopped feeling sorry for myself. Well, at least there’s one good thing about me getting bored of stuff so fast. I mean, come on, I’m in New York, for f@ck’s sake. And really, where the hell else is better to be single than here?
I woke up the next morning, my limbs all numb from sleeping on the floor, but warmed by my two little fluffy pups. And somehow, the paralyzing fear and loneliness weren’t choking me quite as hard anymore. Instead of “OMG, this is so scary”, the small voice in my head started to whisper something else: “OMG, this is so exciting”.
I finally have the time, space, energy, and maybe even the desire to explore the New York I came here for. I’m going to a non-wedding freedom party with my new friends, and they’re gonna paint over the damn wedding dress. I’m going to funky parties and concerts with Victor, exploring cafés and bars with Lucia, eating our way through vegan New York with Verena, and dreaming up world-changing plans with Manny, laughing my ass off with Lydia. I go out alone too, to shows, stand-up comedy nights, TimeLeft dinners, or I just walk around, soaking in the city. The city of my dreams, (and my nightmares).
And little by little, the world is opening up to me again. I’m starting to see all the possibilities where before I only saw walls.
New York doesn’t want to become my home easily. It didn’t greet me with open arms, in fact, it kind of punch me in the face and smacked me around wherever it could. But the truth is, if it had been easy, I probably would’ve just focused on how it smells, how it’s crowded and full of rats, and how you literally cannot get on the subway without ending up somewhere totally different than you planned.:-D If it had been easy, I’d be bored in no second.
But because it’s challenging me on every level-physically, emotionally, financially, spiritually- it makes me want to tame it even more. I’ve learned to appreciate it, to be grateful just to be here. The moment I stop chasing someone else’s needs and finally listen to myself, I begin to wake up. I remember that I’m here, and that I came for more than just survival. I came to live.
Now I’m slowly rediscovering the version of New York I remembered from last year, the one that called me so loudly and clearly. This city is wild, in that strange, magical way where things just… happen. I step outside for a minute, and suddenly I’m invited to an art gallery opening, just like that. I have a casual conversation with a guy, and it turns out he works at Audible and before I know it, he’s offering to help get my translated books onto the world’s biggest audiobook platform. And apparently there’s also a Hungarian Scientists Club. Because of course there is.
The weirdest thing is, I honestly don’t know where I’ve been the past month. I was here, I mean physically, but not really present. Just going through the motions, cleaning, shrinking, fading. Hoping to be enough. Hoping to be loved.
Now it feels like I’ve woken up in a completely different film. One with odd music, slow zooms, and definetly too many symmetrical doorways. A Wes Anderson kind of film. There are moments when I just stop, I stand still for minutes, caught in awe by a blooming flower or a tree just starting to bud. And then suddenly I’m rushing again, trying to make up for all the time I feel I’ve lost, only to end up waiting twenty minutes for the subway. And for the first time in a while, I think in this film I might actually be the main character. Even if I still quietly hurting, I feel more like myself now. Stronger, somehow. Still figuring things out, but… let me tell you something.
If there’s even the tiniest crack left in the door, I’ll find my way through it. I always do.
When I was a little girl, I remember going to a kung fu tournament with my mom. One of my teammates got completely crushed in a match, and the coach tried to comfort him by saying, “It’s the taking part that matters.” I just stared at my mom in total confusion, like, wait… what?
I didn’t train for years, skip out on teenage flings, pour all my time and energy and sweat into practice just to not win. I looked up at her and said, “But Mom, I came here to win.”
And there was nothing arrogant about it. Just pure, childlike honesty. That unshakable belief in a fair world, where if you’re talented, and you work hard, and you want it more than anyone else, then it should pay off. That’s exactly how I feel now. I came here to win.
Not to suffer.Not to play maid in someone else’s life. Not to be someone’s sidekick. Not to beg for love.
Well, sure, I got to this point heartbroken, bruised, and by a way more chaotic and bumpy road than I’d originally planned, but wtf, I got here. I found a way. A very very expensive, and quite stressful way, but I found a way. And for now, to me, that’s all that matters.