The next chapter in my New York experience could be best defined by extreme loud and quiet. I partied harder than I ever did in my life but also spent a lot of time alone in my apartment.
I chose to concentrate my apartment hunt in Park Slope, mainly to stay near my few remaining friends. After an exhaustive search, I finally found a great 3-bedroom (with an extra storage/office room) in a picturesque brownstone only a block away from Prospect Park. My new roommates were complete strangers but friendly and normal. It was tough however feeling at home in the new environment and I didn't establish a sense of ownership until one of the roommates moved out.
The apartment was different than any place I'd lived before. Most of my living experiences, in Texas and New York, had been relatively newly built, but this place was easily a century old. The old world styling seeped out of every corner of the building. There were giant mirrors built into the walls throughout and decorative wood flourishes traced along and on the ceiling. Yet the owner had renovated it with a new kitchen and bathroom so there were no sacrifices to living there.
Thus began my era of adventurousness in the city. I was newly single, had friends, had some money, so was able to explore and play in New York like I hadn't been able to before. My friends and I went everywhere and anywhere. I even established a regulated ritual of getting off work on Friday, taking a quick nap, having a light dinner and then meeting up my friend to go out. And repeated it the following night.
The quiet moments came about because my roommates were frequently absent. Most nights I had the entire apartment to myself. At times, the rooms and extremely long hallway seemed foreboding and cavernous. But for the most part, the place was extremely warm and comforting to be in.
One of my roommates was a bicycling enthusiast which rubbed off on me. It's been one of the best discoveries of my NYC life. On a bike, the entire city opens up to you in a way that can't be replicated by train or foot. I was no longer confined to just where the trains went. Even familiar streets take on an entirely new light while cruising.
That was the beginning of feeling at home in New York and even more important, that this place was mine. I could rightfully call myself a New Yorker. The city was no longer imposing or foreign.
My circle of friends also exploded exponentially. What started off as two, became an entire crew of fun-loving, party maniacs. Thus our outings became events. Nothing was as straightforward as just going out on the town. There had to be themes and costumes. I loved the sincerity behind it. No one was trying to look cool or be in a scene. The main purpose was to laugh and have a blast.
The apartment was the scene for various parties, group dinners, movie-watching nights, rooftop picnics, pumpkin carving parties, Bastille Day celebrations, the list goes on. My friends were as much a fixture of the place as my roommates were.
When it was time to move out, my friends expressed a surprising amount of grief for losing such a great place.
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