New York was never a "maybe" for me. It was never an option for me. It was a MUST. When I went to the city for the first time as a wide eyed 15 year old girl, I immediately fell in love. The lights, the sights, the smells, the sounds, the people, the art, the food...it was like experiencing the world for the first time all over again. I had never seen so many driven people in one place, rushing to get to their fancy jobs so that they could go home to their luxury apartments in Manhattan. What first sparked my interest in this glorious city was a little masterpiece called The Devil Wears Prada. It was my best friend's 13th birthday party, so we got to put our big girl pants on and watch a Pg-13 movie of our choice. It wasn't only the glamorous city life and Miranda Priestly's iconic snide, yet boss bitch, comments that had me drooling over this film, but it was my connection with Andy. I felt like I could relate to her: the small town girl that preferred a comfy sweater over stilettos who came to New York to be a writer. And, if you remember from my previous post, being a writer was (and is) my dream job. I told myself that when I graduate college at 21 years old I'm packing up moving to Manhattan. Bad news little Mica, I'm 23, almost graduated, and nowhere near financially ready to afford a shoebox apartment in Manhattan. Does that mean I'm giving up on my dream? Hell no. So I'm not where I thought I would be at this age, that doesn't mean I'll never get there. When I set my mind to something, I have every intention of sticking to it. I've even started applying to some writing jobs in New York...though I'll probably have to settle for a shoebox apartment in the Bronx.
Until next time loves!