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I didn’t like New York the first time I got there. I could probably blame “The Devil Wears Prada” for what I expected from it. I couldn't believe it at first: I was in the city I’d dreamt of visiting for so long, and yet I didn’t like it. Gerardo walked a few steps in front of me. He was angry, sad, and drunk. “It’s daylight” I thought, even though I clearly knew it was 2 am. And as Times Square shined over us, instead of spending some romantic days in the city before coming back to Buenos Aires, me and my then-boyfriend were screaming at each other. We suddenly parted ways, and Gerardo was there no more. I stood alone on the same square I had seen different actors playing Spider-Man save the day more than once. Only this time, there was no Spider-Man to come for my aid in case anything happened. As I gazed into the distance, it didn’t feel like daylight anymore. I was drunk, sad, and angry too. There was no taxi in sight, and I had no data to call an Uber. “Grand Central is two blocks away, so I have to go right there“. As I stepped into the unknown path of the other side of W 46th St, all those 20+ floor buildings were starting to bend over me, threatening to devour me. I wanted to take refuge under those green, tall, New York sideway sheds, but, what would happen if I did? The lights from the theaters were gone, and the artificial daylight from all the collosal ad screens you and I have seen thousands of times in the movies were fading away, as I tried to make my way to the hotel. Grand Central was actually 4 blocks away. I couldn’t realise that at the moment. It all went black. That was the first time I was alone in New York. Brooklyn Bridge… and then Dumbo. Two years later, the last goal of the day was set on my phone notes. I felt funny as the sun disappeared while I was reaching the Brooklyn end. I was expecting signs telling me where to go, but there was only a set of stairs in front of me, and they led to an alley that immediately made me think of that infamous french movie. It reminded me that I didn’t like New York the first time I got there. Totally confused, I stood in front of those stairs in silence. “Should I go back? Should I go down and find Dumbo on my own?”. But something made me turn back and walk towards the shining Manhattan skyline. Was it because I was alone? Was I feeling some remnants of that drunken night from my past? The thing is, no one tells you that if you’re travelling alone, you are able to feel scared. And even though I thought I had conquered fear in New York two years before, there it was again. “Emmanuel, it’s not like you were in the middle of the jungle trying to survive!” Isn’t it wonderful how your mindset can influence how you see a place? Looking back, I just come to realise, I was in the middle of a jungle, but it was somewhere in my mind. I didn’t really like New York the first time I got there. And it’s ok, because in my second visit, I learned it’s also ok to be afraid: of where you are, of who you are, of your future. But it’s not ok to let it numb you. I’m now replacing fear with the feeling of blood rushing through my veins. The one that first stroke after I realised I had spent 2 hours reading at the MoMA’s library. After I realised I always wanted to be an artist. New York showed me that, and that was bigger than fear. So, what’s next? Maybe it’s not about being happy because something was or wasn’t at the level of your expectations. Maybe it’s about finally surrendering to the places you’ve always wanted to be in. With it’s pros and cons. And that’s a huge “The Devil Wears Prada” moment in there.