As she walked up the gloomy stairs of the subway station, dread filled her insides, for she realized that it was already dark out, and the colors of the sky had changed, and that fall had inevitably arrived.
Unlike most people who liked fall for its beauty, the changing of colors, like her mother, sister and a friend born in October, she associated it with sadness. She remembered all the miserable school days in Tehran, how fall marked the beginning of another dreadful year in a system she hated. The buying of the uniforms, and the seriousness that followed inside the classrooms, where she had to sit silently, arms crossed, obeying and never questioning what was said.
Here in New York City, fall also brought back memories of times she was alone, and struggling, as she was now in a different way, to settle in a place she had dreamed of being, becoming, and loving.
Everything about New York was a struggle, she realized. Without much financial support, in a way, sometimes it seemed impossible. She felt herself getting more tired by the thought. She was only 23 and yet reality had sunk in so deep that her skin had lost its youthful color and unattractive circles formed under her eyes, along with lines on her forehead.
What was it she wanted once? She realized she had just imagined a fantasy where by moving to a big city, as great as New York, somehow the wheels would turn and something would happen. That’s how she was, always looking for something to happen. She was good with change until it became routine. She didn’t know how to handle routine, for she felt stuck, unable to breathe, like on her morning and return trips on a crowded subway train.
And here she was on the street, trying to make it home as the grey clouds seemed to surround her soul. Would she ever figure out how to be happy? She wondered as she struggled to pick up her pace.