New York is the city of dreams, so I’ve been told. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about it that makes anything possible,” a friend said the day before I hopped on the plane. It would be my third trip there. Granted, I had not been impressed on my previous visits, but this time, things were different. Not because it was my first getaway in two long years and not because it’s my job to write this story.
Maybe the third time’s the charm. While it might seem difficult to appreciate a city with streets packed with the loud honks of impatience and hustle and bustle, I learnt that with beauty, perspective is everything. I saw beauty in the ice skaters at Central Park and the lovebirds by the iconic Christmas tree at Rockefeller Centre. I saw the same in the early winter sunset from the top of One World Observatory, and even from within the 9/11 Museum, despite its bottomless grief. I suppose love grows each time you unearth a story and figure lost to
