The Chipped Cup

Sometime before or after noon I gather my books, my computer, my thoughts and head to the cafe a couple short blocks from our apartment. It's on the lower level of one of the buildings right in between 148th and 149th and has a blue, chalkboard easel out on the sidewalk to attract customers with phrases written on it like, "Tired? Come inside and have a cup!" It stands out from the other shops because it's painted bright blue and most places around it embrace the concrete look and have dingy signs in both Spanish and English.

It's called The Chipped Cup and I go there just about every day. I buy an iced coffee or hot Moroccan mint tea depending on the weather. Then I plop myself down at whatever seat, table, bar stool happens to be closest to the outlets, plug my computer in, and get to work. Work being a perusal of gmail and facebook before I finally start studying. I read chapters from my textbooks or assigned articles online. I write papers or projects for class. I re-teach myself Excel with helpful youtube videos cuz I have no idea how that program works anymore. It's boring but necessary.

Sometimes I slyly people-watch. I have to be sly cuz it's kind of small and you can't really people-watch in an enclosed space without people wondering why you're staring at them. Eye-contact in these situations is common and always awkward. Sometimes I smile and look away and sometimes I make a weird face and pretend that I jut caught them staring at me instead of the other way around. People vary from obviously hipster to obviously student to obviously just like going to a cafe to chat with friends or relax. It's nice. However, this place does not really include the typical resident of this area. It's gentrification at work. I imagine, with the popularity of this place, that more places like it will pop up soon and more and more people will be drawn to an area where you can spend $5 on a cup of coffee - something not before typical of Harlem.

Outside, there's a small patio area that's adorably decorated and very comfortable when the weather's nice. If my roommates and I had similar schedules, it might be nice to sit out here with them and chat. I wonder if our loud-Americans-in-public personas still exist. Maybe they do but they're not obvious cuz everyone else is loud too. They've painted the word "Harlem" in giant letters across the back wall, proud of the area maybe or just trying to be cool - I don't know. There's also a huge mirror propped up in the corner that kinda freaks  you out and makes you think you're going to run into yourself but it also makes this small space seem much larger and is pretty brilliant.

After hours of sitting here without being bothered or feeling obligated to order another drink, when my once scalding hot tea is too cold to drink, when the others have come and gone again and again, I pack up my stuff and head home.

I love this place.

-Age

The Commute

It’s late morning and I’ve only been up for an hour. This city keeps me up until the wee hours as my day often doesn’t end until 10:00 or even 11:00pm. Between school and studying and running around trying to get my life in order, sleep is elusive and inconvenient.

It rained all last night so the morning is beautiful, sunny, and crisp – shiny and clean and re-set. It’s always noisy here but the sounds are beginning to feel familiar, more of a soundtrack for a life that is becoming less new or noticeable. I don’t stare at the old buildings anymore or listen to the conversations of my neighbors (if I can understand them) or try to memorize the different stores so I can decide which ones I want to peruse in the future. I live in Harlem, near the Hudson and Riverside Park. I am the minority. Gentrification is new to me but very much a part of the choice I’ve made in moving here. I walk down our street towards Broadway.

Once on the main drag, I turn left and pass C-Town, the closest super market which is convenient but lacking the fresh produce that I miss so much from Bulgaria. There are farms in New York and opportunities to buy fresh veggies and fruits but, in the lower-income areas, it’s not always easy. There’s lots of small stores, fast food, a new bar that just opened up, packed every night with people watching a variety of sports – flirting and chatting and drinking, trying to relax for a few hours or trying to be seen. It reminds me of the night my friends and I went – the Grand Opening – I liked that the walls were chalkboards and had funny phrases written on them. The beers weren’t too outrageously priced and the staff was friendly and wearing unpretentious t-shirts which I found refreshing.

Onward for six full blocks as our apartment is smack-dab in the middle of the subway stations on both 145^th and 157^th. I walk in the direction of downtown since my school is on 13^th street.

Down to the subway, quickly digging through my purse to get my metro card before I hit the turnstiles that are often crowded with people trying to get in and out of the underground. It’s hot, stuffy. I would complain but then I think about how freezing and bitter this place must be in January. I see that my train, the 1, will be approaching the station in 3 minutes. I stand, waiting. When it pulls up, dozens of people poor out of the sliding doors and dozens more replace them, including me. Today there are spots available and I quickly sit down, squishing myself between a man who’s hat is pulled far down over is face in an attempt to sleep and a woman who is clutching her purse close and sitting on the edge of her chair as though she may make a run for it at any moment. Some people stand and chat, so accustomed to the swaying, backward and forward momentum of the train that they don’t feel the need to sit. I pull out a textbook and start reading. Economics. Statistics. Policy Analysis. It doesn’t really matter, I’m behind on my reading in every class, always trying so hard to catch up. I’d kill for 30-hour days.

Sometimes, there are performers down here. If you have to wait for a train for 5 minutes or more you may be serenaded by a young guitar player with a surprisingly wonderful voice and a sad, original song that makes you want to close your eyes and wait for the train just a little longer. The sounds bouncing off the walls that serve as appealing acoustics to these buskers, makes our wait just a little better. If they are bad, they have a few dollars in their open guitar case. If they are good, people are continuously walking over to drop anywhere from a combination of coins from the depths of their pockets to a few dollars. I love it when they’re good. I’ve been known to give a dollar or two.

When the subway hits my stop, I quickly walk out, through the turnstiles, up the stairs and back into the sunlight. The difference between Greenwich Village in downtown Manhattan is strikingly different from where I just came from – taller buildings, lots of trees, more well-known stores and eateries. I walk quickly down the busy streets, constantly millimeters away from running into the hordes of people coming from the opposite direction going to equally as important and pressing places as myself.

When I get inside my classroom and sit down, I mentally prepare myself for the massive amounts of information that will be flying my way over the next two hours and take a deep breath. 

-Age

No Longer Destitute.

In some ways, I like the idea of being a transient person. Though, having a place to call home is also pretty awesome.

We have an apartment!!! Thank goodness.

Also, Katelyn got here and has been furnishing the apartment with me by looking up tons of free stuff on craigslist, renting a car super cheap for a day and running around picking up things from bookshelves to beds to couches. All free. We have an eclectic apartment with a price tag of nearly $0. Well done us.

We live in Harlem. Which is pretty great. I'm learning Spanish because it just seems like a great idea and because the opportunities to practice abound in our neighborhood where most people are from the Dominican Republic. It's similar to Bulgaria in that everyone around us speaks a language other than English but different from Bulgaria...in pretty much every way.

However, here are some other Bulgaria similarities:

There's a cute cafe called The Chipped Cup that we love and spend hours at. Reading, studying, taking our time with our coffee like true Bulgarians.

In the grassy and tree-lined island in the center of the main street, Broadway, there are benches full of old and young men playing what I think is majong and gossiping in Spanish. It's the gossiping that reminds me of Bulgaria. The game-playing actually reminds me of Turkey as men love to get together and play backgammon at tea shops.

That's all. Everything else is extremely different.

I've been trying to get a part-time job so I don't run out of money. It hasn't been going too well but I'm going to keep plugging away.

School is really difficult right now. A lot of reading. A lot of studying. A lot of pressure. I'm trying to get used to being a student again and it's proving difficult. Though, I'm loving this really intellectual environment. I feel my brain burning and I love the challenge of keeping up with all of the other students. It's been fun and interesting and a completely different experience than the one I was living in Bulgaria.

I can't really think of anything else to add.

If I do, I'll let you know.

Okay. Ciao ciao.

-Age