by Samantha Jo-Rocco
As if I am comforting myself, I rub the chill out of my body and turn over on my side. The toss of my body causes my hair to slightly brush my nose, revealing the ungodly stench of cigarettes and my new Dolce & Gabbana perfume. My skin is musky. My conscience turns against me. I close my eyes and listen carefully to the rain battling the pavement. On this morning, I am able to relate to the rain; although it is polluted, it manages to wash away the sin of New York City. How contradicting this rain is. My newfound morals, they reveal the same contradiction -- seemingly pure with an appearance of doing all that is right. The irony of this city it that you can protest war and hate by day, and transform into these daemons by night. You can move in your new apartment clear-minded and goal-oriented, and quickly change paths to something less positive. Do I truly understand myself enough to survive in this city, the city that will eat you alive if you do not have a clear understanding of your self-worth and goals? It is hard to imagine that I know myself at all. My original naive ways gravitated towards the title of “socially unacceptable,” and my path changed as did my morals. New York City has taken me without my consent, but reminds me constantly that even the polluted rain makes the flowers beautiful.
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