Leslie Anselme
Yo yo yiggidy yo. My name is Leslie (everyone calls me Les) and I couldn’t be happier that my freshman year of college is ending.
A few weeks ago, my seminar professor asked me to share the story of how I became a New Yorker. What seemed like a simple task to most, struck me—the Long Island girl—as quite difficult. I was raised in the Nassau County hamlet of Elmont; home to the Belmont Racetrack. I spent the last eighteen years of my life playing competitive soccer and softball, hanging out at the mall and movies, munching on Italian Ices, and boogie boarding at Jones Beach; all the while attending a Jr./Sr. High School with the same kids I went to kindergarten with, and complaining how boring Long Island is.
I always knew I wanted to attend college in “the city.” Where else would an aspiring journalist go? Columbia and NYU were calling my name. However, during my senior year of high school, reality (and the recession) hit me, and I discovered Macaulay. The idea of having two campuses: one in Brooklyn and one in Manhattan made me so excited. I figured I’d be drinking “cawfee” and “waawduh” in no time.
That excitement lasted about five minutes. Soon after my acceptance, I got the orientation letter—the three-day Manhattan orientation. I immediately thought, “Oh crap!” Besides the occasional ride on the F for SoHo shopping trips with my friends, I had no subway experience. The idea of taking the subway by myself terrified me. That’s why I had my father drive me to Central Park for the Outward Bound portion of the orientation. After that, my first ever trip to Central Park, came the moment of truth, despite my pathetic attempts at stalling. Armed with a brand new Metro Card and a subway map given to me by my best friend, I descended the steps to the subway, still wearing my red Macaulay Honors College shirt, and boarded the train. I don’t remember which line I took, but I was told to get off at Atlantic Avenue and transfer to the Long Island Railroad. That’s exactly what I did. However, before getting to the comfortable familiarity of the LIRR, I had to endure a forty-five minute ride on the dimly lit, rickety train. The smell of urine mixed with the stench of the man sitting next to me made me uneasy and anxious. Public transportation just wasn’t my thing. It was all so new, and the people didn’t look friendly at all. They didn’t care about anyone or anything but themselves and where they were going. I, on the other hand, was fascinated by the ads, the graffiti, the seats, the stations, and the strange voice kind enough to announce each stop and warn me of the closing doors. As time went on, I began to loosen up, and I soon realized what everyone had already told me—it wasn’t that bad.
As corny as it sounds, I was so proud of myself for this accomplishment. Elmont is a place where everyone knows everyone so you’re hardly ever alone. Taking the subway by myself, after just turning eighteen two days before, was an amazing experience. It made me feel mature. It made me feel cool. It made me feel like a New Yorker, finally.
Gotta write this!