And once again I found myself on the streets of Jackson Heights, New York. This time I ended up their three times during the 7-day trip. The airport shuttle on arrival took me straight to the main street station, and I made my way to the momo shop, bought grubs for SK and his cousin. On my departure flight I scuttled around the streets and rushed my way into the Q70 shuttle bus back to LGA. The three of us: Sk's cousin, Sk, and I also went to the neighborhood my last night of stay in the city. We went to a Nepali restaurant (a 'family restaurant') and Nepali bar that serves as a club floor during weekends.
I was reminded how unique, diverse, and entrepreneurial this place is. Shops and stores from Latin America, South Asia and South-east Asia tightly pack the streets. People sell paans in the open like in India, shoes and other nick-nacks like the open-street markets of the rest of the world. There's this wild spirit of entrepreneurship and can-do attitude, that says: you give us a chance, and we'll run with it.
It is of course quite full of trash, and the smell can get out of hands sometime. But that's New York City generally on a hot day, nothing weird there. This place really shows how truly unique America is, how much it's loved and aspired to by the rest of the world. Pinoy restaurants next to Nepali restaurants next to Thai restaurants, next to Honduran restaurants remind you that the tales of "New York" that are told through white-people media...NBC sitcoms and other comedies made exclusively by the white folk, don't tell even a percent of the story of the city. Even modern attempts like Awkwafina's story "Awkwafina of Queens" can't quite communicate the pulsating, throbbing, thriving vibe of the neighborhood.
I don't know if I can say I love JH, but I appreciate it's there, and proud that this place not just accepts, but celebrates places like these. I'll keep going there forever.
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