My starting point was at the Philippine Consulate at 5th. My first stop was Barnes and Nobles, which was just right across. There, I tried my best to find for Frida Kahlo's Diary. Alas with all the help, I was told I'd have to go all the way to Union Square (which I actually thought about doing but we'll get to that). I still ended up scoring something else though: Sylvia Plath's Journals that day (and a tiny Friends book for my friend who pushed me into watching Friends back at home the next time I went back to that same store). Next I came into Urban Outfitters. I didn't buy anything, but it was hard for my mouth not to water over lots of things, which were honestly not worth the $$$$ anyways. Sad. Clothes are expensive. Which is why, support thrifting and sustainable fashion, friends! (I did come back to the same store, though, not for myself, but to buy those Rick and Morty boxers for my friends because they were on sale. Which I kinda regretted because there were cheaper deals at Kohl's, but whatever. My friends deserve both. I love my friends.) 

The New York Public Library was what's closest so that's where I came to next. I think I got lost inside and embarrassed myself (I think I entered a private room, one where I wasn't supposed to be in but everyone else seemed like they had secondhand embarrassment from me that they couldn't even bring to tell me that; either that, or it was just all in my twisted head), then I felt so small and scared and conscious about all the people knowing their way inside that I eventually just got out without really exploring the place. Which I, of course, regret. Because it would have been cool if I did, and I really wanted to, aside from wanting to find where that Breakfast at Tiffany's scene was set. Here I realized that though nobody knew me, despite me wanting to be myself and despite always having told myself that I could be myself when nobody knew me (which is actually not how it should be, because we all know–but don't really embody–that we shouldn't be afraid to be ourselves no matter where we are or whom we're with; at the end of the day, it's our own selves that will end up really caring that much), I was still scared of being myself. As I write this, 4 months after and now back home, I realized I'm still the same. 

After that, I didn't really know where else to go. Funny how I could say that in the city of endless possibilities. I guess it's just that 5th Avenue isn't my place–high-end shops, too tall buildings, I'm not much of a modern, urban, city person, who'd feel satisfied just by being amidst busy people, really (or so I thought, since it was an unexpected day out; I was not able to do prior research on what I thought would be cool around). So I thought about taking the subway. Then I thought against it because my mom would kill me (and I was honestly scared to death still). Then I tried to get walking directions to Union Square from 5th. I was thinking and walking and thinking really fast and walking really fast until I was, I don't even remember where. Not sure if I was still in 5th, but it was a couple blocks away from the Public Library. All I knew was that I was far, there were less people around, so that alarmed me. Then I checked on Google Maps again and realized I haven't even walked halfway to my destination yet. So, alas, I decided against it and traced my way all the way back to the Library. I gave up on the idea that I could ever escape Midtown. For now. 

I explored the map on my phone. I saw that the next closest thing that could amuse me would be Times Square. (I mean, I wouldn't really, but well, alone in Times Square for the first time would count as something.) No pictures; I just took really goofy selfies because I was hyped about walking alone in this big city for the first time. Forgot to mention, on the way, that's when I found the dollar store for books, games, dvds/cds. That's where I scored a Van Gogh book for only a dollar (minus tax).

Times Square, check. Next up, I went circling around a couple of the same streets, and found myself coming back to either Times Square or a very sketchy alley (I'm so terrible with directions and so anxious about trusting my instincts), in an attempt to get to my next location: the MoMA. I just knew I had to get there because aside from alone times in art museums (everyone should be able to do this therapeutic, and even self-discovering activity), I'd be 17 in the next week after that day. If I'm not mistaken, you'd have to be 16 or below to get a free admission.

Here's another self-realization: New York has influenced me so much on being fast-paced and all that, that I can't take slow moments in the museum. I was just walking walking walking. Partly because I was scared my mom would worry (she didn't tell me the exact time we'd have to go home so I had to be alert all the time). Despite the wi-fi inside, I was still worried about losing contact that I couldn't stay loose. I think I might have focused more on the art if given another chance, which sucked. Dating with yourself in art museums should mean something so deep and intimate and yet I did that just to stay among the shallows and share on my Instagram story that I've seen The Starry Night and Monet's Water Lilies again. Not cool. The other thing was that the place was packed. It was really hard to have a quiet moment between you and the art with that much people (but I guess this is subjective), and especially the fact that my mind was so preoccupied. Not doing this in an art museum alone again. I promise to invest myself wholly from now on. For my own growth, anyway. No point in caring about what other people will have to think, as well. 

I was already rushing back to 5th, got the frequent wrong turns here and there. Finally made it back to 5th around 5pm. I got a message from my mom that said she wouldn't be finished 'till around 8 to 9. Great. Could've stayed in the MoMa longer. Better yet, could've taken the subway. But that's okay. I was tired so I spent the next hour killing time at Bryant Park (the one just near the steps to the Library, though). 

I was reading Sylvia Plath until a Korean-American college girl approached me. She was going to ask me some things for an assignment, but she was only supposed to ask college participants, and I told her, unfortunately, I wasn't. And either it would have been rude if she'd left me or just shot me the questions anyway, she opened a conversation. She asked about my parents first, where I'm from, why I was alone, and not that I intended to lie but my story at this point–about my family and being in New York–seemed a lot too complicated for me to comprehend at that moment (because I'm always nervous with strangers, whether I wanted you to be my friend or otherwise), so I ended up fabricating a few things here and there. She was nice, and the whole conversation was really good for me too. The most shocking revelation I received from this conversation was when she told me that she was in awe about how open I was with her, which to me in return was a very, very surprising remark, because that was the first time ever someone has told me that. I know none of my friends or family members back home, not even me myself would say that, because that's not the truth. I didn't know how to really feel–happy because someone has seen that to be an amazing thing, let alone has ever seen that trait in me, or to feel dismayed because that probably wasn't really who I was. I may have forgotten everything I've said and I may have thought that things I've shared seemed too small to me, so maybe that's why I couldn't grasp the idea of why she had told me such a thing. People will really pay attention to you, and when they do, they pick something up from you that you never have thought of encountering in yourself. So I guess it's true, then. You reveal who you really are when you have a thorough enough conversations with strangers. 

When she left, I realized, I still had time. So I left, too. I tried to search for coffee shops; I never found one I wanted, or one that had any available seats. Instead I found out that Grand Central Terminal was nearby. I got directions going there. And off I went. 

I had dinner there: a protein bar, because, well, what can I say? I was 16 and a girl. Sucks. Spent my time looking at people come and go. Then I finally decided it was time to leave by the time it was around 8, but I still had no messages from my mom. I decided I was tired, it was getting dark, and I really didn't know where else to go (especially that it was getting dark), so I guess I could bear to wait for my mom in the lobby of the Philippine Consulate for another hour or so. Sucks to be young in a big city and having all that time, I know. I'll have my time. 

On my way back, I had the opportunity to see the sunset in between the buildings. I think it was only a few days when the crazed Manhattanhenge happened, but people still stopped in pedestrian lanes and took photos, so I thought this was great, no one would think of me as an annoyance. 

Finally, my night was over. To end, my mom and I watched an Ilonggo Fashion Show. You know the thing about having a piece of your home in a totally foreign place? It's strange, yet comforting. Like how you're reminded of how big this world can be, and yet find that it can still be so small. 

I missed on a lot. My overall realization is that being alone still scares me and hinders me from doing things I'm actually free to do on my own and for my own benefit. Which shouldn't be, because being alone is supposed to be empowering. The thing about these kinds of experiences is that you'd have to make the most out of it. Sadly, I don't think I could say that for my part. Although, I would say, it did count for something because I made it out alive with new found lessons. Definitely, I will have to make the most out of the next time I have the whole city to myself. Fear should be nothing. Why hold yourself back when you know that's what's gonna make you feel the most fulfilled?