Meant to Be

For my sixteenth birthday, my mom brought me to New York City. It was my sixteenth birthday wish! To be in my favorite city, letting my mind dream and dream of the days that could be. On that trip I believe I had my first taste of true depression, however. It was on one of what was supposed to be the happiest days, strolling central park and eating a snack on the Met steps. But, I was just sad. For no reason. Maybe it was because I had a taste of the freedom of New York City. You can be anyone you want to be and do anything you can dream of. In that trip, I cemented my aspirations of being here.

In my mom’s friend’s apartment, where we crashed, I couldn’t help but find the beauty in the views of the skyscrapers and the intricacies of the water towers on the roofs of the scattered buildings. Leaning into the aesthetic, I snapped a photo and posted on my snapchat story.

Fast forward 9 years and I now lounge in the exact same chair in my New York City apartment. In a chance encounter with my mom’s old friend and a need for a cheap couch, we asked and we received.

This chair is a symbol for me. Of consistency. Of hope. Of dreams. Of overcoming sadness.

I can’t believe it, but in this chair I’ve felt the presence of God, I’ve cried many tears, I’ve had many laughs, I’ve literally made life altering decisions in this chair. I don’t know. I just needed to recognize the significance of this chair,