The Big Apple

Nineteen years ago, when I first set foot on American soil, I had one and only one wish: to see the Statue of Liberty. As soon as we landed at JFK, I asked my dad if we can go see the Statue, that quintessential symbol of America who greets new immigrants and welcomes them into the land of freedom. But timing, logistics and rush-hour traffic prevented us from doing even a drive-by. And so, my American experience started with a few images of Manhattan, dark cornfields of Pennsylvania and then... my new hometown of Cleveland, Ohio. I never had another chance to go back to NYC after that. So it should come as no surpirse that my American experience should be unfullfileld until such time when I get to see New York and the Statue of Liberty in all of its splendor.

And now that I'm on the East Coast, I had to go see it. During spring break I made a run for the Big Apple. To keep with the immigrant theme, I took the Chinatown bus, a Greyhound-like bus that ferries mostly students and Chinese shoppers between the two cities with incredible speed and efficiency. From Chinatown, the Statue of Liberty was a relatively short walk. And so, on a beautiful March afternoon I sat on a bench in Battery Park and marveled at the Statue. From a mile away it seemed small and unimportant. And then I realized how appropriate this should be: its symbolism has gotten smaller over the years. It's as if Lady Liberty's torch no longer burns the same mixture of promise, idealism and wide-eyed immigrant curiosity as it did 19 years ago. Slightly dissapointed, I walked back towards Midtown and lost myself into the turmoil of the Big Apple, searching for a new symbol of promise and hope.