This is enough. I am content.

Three months in New York. I have not been away from home for a longer period of time. Much has happened this past month of November - the hurricane, power outages, the usual grind at school. I wrote a long post on post-Sandy blues but I have yet to retrieve it from my phone (penned it on a plane), will unveil it once I transfer it over, which is as simple as emailing it to myself, then copying and pasting it onto this box here. Maybe a short and light post to revive this blog is much preferred over a rather heavy reflection on post-hurricane devastation.

As I enter my first law school finals period, much of the stress and workload has necessitated the need for me to step back from my books occasionally and just explore the city. Usually the biproduct of said explorations involve delightful conversations or interactions with strangers. Often, strangers would approach me when I'm sketching at a particularly scenic vantage point, overlooking the gleaming parapets of lofty skyscrapers. I usually oblige them in a polite conversation, and most of the time I'm rewarded with very intriguing insights. From a former film school instructor, to playwright, artist, garbage collector or even an architect; it really puts urban life into perspective - the narrative of human struggle in this cosmopolitan metropolis is colorful albeit difficult.

Two days ago, I found myself standing in line at the bus stop. The Nassau Inter County Express (NICE) is notorious for its tardy buses and horrendous service, and utterly belies its acronym. Frustrated, I asked an elderly man next to me if he had been waiting for a long time. He proceeded to wax lyrical about the abominable attitude of government service here and how people do not treat others with respect.Allan Ranjattan was a stout, brown man with a white scruffy beard. His large eyes and heavy brow lent an air of authority when he spoke, yet his wrinkled forehead and jagged jawlines suggested an unresolved weariness. His eroded demeanor was even more evident when he said that he has had quite enough with American society. His disdain continued to grow as we talked about American morality, values, unhealthy food, waning healthcare system and poor bus systems. To sum it up, he was quite fed up and ready to leave.

Allan is a Hindustan immigrant from Guyana. Like countless others, he came to America to partake in a better life. His children all live comfortable lives now with established careers here, much of it due to his fortitude in providing for them as he sent them to good schools and taught them how to thrive in this great nation that is America. Many immigrants made the difficult decision of uprooting themselves from their countries of origin in search of a better future for themselves or their families. As immigrants, my parents worked long, hard hours to put food on the table and a roof over my head. They are motivated by the prospect of sending their child to a good school and for all of us to someday live a comfortable life in this opportune landscape. They are often marginalized, subordinated to the lower tiers of the economic food chain, but nothing seems to dampen their spirits. This tale of hard work is the collective story of millions of immigrants (many undocumented) in New York and in North America.

However, Allan is unhappy. He is discontented with life here and he yearns to return to Guyana, his home which he is not short of praise for. In between his diatribes on American decadence, he paints a wonderful picture of an Utopian paradise in Guyana, people working the land, reaping the harvest, giving and sharing with one another. He longs to return to farm his piece of land, 80 hectares in size, growing bananas, plantains, cassava, yams, sugarcane, melons - all to his heart's desire.

Allan longs to return to familiarity, simplicity and purpose in his life. He no longer wants to operate forklifts in his warehouse job, he wants to rear cattle and feed the poultry; perhaps hand over excess heads of cabbage and eggs to his neighbours after making his rounds to the market. Or dabble around with the gold detector which he plans to get. "Guyana is rich in minerals," he says in a hushed tone after looking around to make sure no one is listening. "Oh, and the roast pork is to die for," he insinuates with a wink, "the food here is not real."

He got off the bus after a few blocks, and I pieced the conversation together, not knowing how powerful of an interaction it was. I've since realized how caught up many American citizens and foreign students just like myself in this course of 'naturalization' - routines, materialism, bills to pay, people to see, I want this and that. When do we ever say, "this is enough, I am content" or "I want to share this with you/others". We often struggle to find happiness, not knowing that it lies in the ubiquitous, accessible and fundamental truth of simplicity .

This is enough, I am content.