New York City - The City of Immigrants

After the celebration of my 27th birthday down in Red Hook (a Brooklyn neighborhood at the edge of the water near the Statue of Liberty) I took a cab back to the island city of Manhattan. Slightly buzzed with hair flowing through the night breeze I watched the New York City skyline. The Empire State Building was green and red that night for the anniversary of the Dow Jones I discovered after a quick google search. That's disappointing I thought to myself hoping the colors would represent something cooler. Only in NYC would the Empire State Building light up over something financial.

Somewhere on the Brooklyn Bridge, I mentioned Istanbul and how I needed to get back to Turkey.

"Ahhhh!!! You've been to Turkey?!? That is my home country!!" the cab driver exclaimed. I have to admit I was a little caught off guard - not because the man was from Turkey but rather that cab drivers rarely engage in conversation. He shared that he moved here 5 years ago and that he hopes to go back, when things get better. I looked uneasy at my fellow passenger - we both knew Turkey wasn't going to be getting "better" anytime soon or at least without a lot of pain and suffering of the Turkish people. It was a conversation both of us had several times before and we always promised our selves to go back SOON so that we can see Cappadocia and Antalya. I fear that window continues to be closing.

The rest of the ride was pleasant. We talked the rest of the way discussing all things Turkish- from the bathes, to Turkish culture, to Turkish delight. The cab driver even laughed when we told him our stories of Turkish cab drivers in Istanbul (but that's a story for a different time). I imagine laughter doesn't happen often with costumers on the late night taxi drive shift.

At the end of the ride, the man let out a sigh that will haunt me forever.

It must be so hard to be an immigrant.

Especially in New York City.