Captured Hearts: Love Through the Lens of New York

Chapter 1~ NEW BEGINNINGS

I found myself in the vibrant city that never sleeps, starting a new chapter in my life. Just in my early twenties, I left my cozy hometown to chase my dreams in the busy streets of New York City.

Bless my parents' hearts, they have grand visions of a secure future for me – one within accounting. Admittedly, I did manage to snag a pretty sweet spot at a prestigious accounting firm. The allure of those polished office spires and a regular paycheck was rather tempting, I must admit.

Yet deep within me, a secret drummed to its own rhythm, a passion my parents were blissfully unaware of. Photography, oh how it echoed in the depths of my soul, offering a realm where moments could be frozen and feelings captured with the mere click of a shutter.

I saw the city as a big canvas, and my camera was like a brush. The bright city lights, the tall buildings, and all the people rushing around inspired me.

My plan moving here was during the day, I crunched numbers and worked on spreadsheets, but when the sun set, my real adventure begins with my camera in hand.

Walking through the city with my camera I felt like I was playing and the whole city was my playground. A park called Central Park became my favorite place to escape since I moved here a week ago .The tall buildings there looked like giants, and the ponds were like mirrors showing hidden stories. Walking around with my camera, I caught special moments that others might miss. Musicians playing on the street, couples stealing kisses on benches, kids having fun with bubbles – I captured all of these in my photos, freezing them forever.

I didn't tell my parents about my love for photography. They thought it wasn't a real job, and I understood that. Growing up, we weren't rich, so I knew their worries,not taking up this job was not an option.

Lost in my own thoughts, a voice from the doorway suddenly breaks my reverie.

"Hey there! You settling in okay?" It's my new neighbor, who also happens to be the landlady.

I offer a small smile. "Yeah, just getting used to the place."

She grins. "You know, there's this awesome thrift store just around the corner. They've got some amazing furniture finds."

"Really? I'll have to check it out. Thanks for the tip!"

"No problem at all. By the way, when do you start your new job?"

I shift slightly. "I'll be starting at the accounting firm pretty soon."

"That's great! Don't worry, you'll do amazing. New beginnings can be a bit nerve-wracking, but you'll settle in just fine."

Her words bring a sense of comfort. "Thanks, I really appreciate that."

We exchange smiles, and she waves as she heads out. The unexpected chat was a nice interruption, leaving me feeling thankful for the friendly encounter I thought as I walked into my apartment.

Entering my apartment after the conversation with my neighbor, I took in the cozy space that was now my own. It wasn't the biggest place, but it felt just right for me. I couldn't help but smile as I looked around. The rent was affordable, which was a big plus for someone like me who had grown up with middle-class values. And the best part? The view from my window was simply breathtaking. The city lights twinkled like stars against the night sky, reminding me that I was part of something much bigger – a world full of dreams and possibilities.

As much as I adored my new city life, a soft pang of nostalgia tugged at my heart. I couldn't help but miss the serenity of my hometown back in Canada. The tranquil streets, the familiar faces, and the peaceful quiet that enveloped the town – they were a world away from the constant bustle of New York. While the city had its own kind of magic, I knew I'd always carry a piece of that small-town calm with me, a reminder of where I came from.

It's a bit amusing, really. Despite my mixed heritage, Canada is the only place I've ever called home. With my mom being Nigerian and my dad Spanish, they settled on the name Lola for me. It's like a bridge between the two sides of my family. In Spanish, Lola translates to "strong woman," which feels fitting given my determined nature. And in Yoruba, the Nigerian language, Lola means "wealthy." It's as if my name carries these beautiful meanings that reflect the essence of both my roots even though I've spent most of my life in Canada.

While I was lost in my own musings, my phone rang, and it was my mom calling. I answered with a smile, "Hey, Mom!"

"Hello, my little world traveler! How's the Big Apple treating you?" she chimed.

I chuckled, "Mom, it's been a whirlwind. The city is amazing."

"Remember to pray, my dear. Keep those prayers strong even among those city distractions "

I smiled, "Of course, Mom."

"Alright, remember I love you, my strong-willed prayer warrior."

"And I love you too, Mom."

With a chuckle and a promise to call soon, we hung up. I wasn't surprised as my mum probably only called to remind me to pray cause she did that a lot . Just as I was about to put my phone down, I heard her say, "Oh, I've got to go, dear. Your father is having yet another heated discussion with the plumber. It's like their favorite pastime."

I laughed, "Tell Dad I said hi and good luck with the plumber!"

With a warm goodbye, we ended the call, leaving me with a smile and a sense of being connected, even across the miles. My parents might be a touch annoying at times, but their love was unwavering. I miss them.

Surveying the chaos in my apartment, I couldn't help but admit to myself that I was just too darn lazy to tackle it right now. The mess could wait, and I'd deal with it tomorrow. Right now, sinking into the couch and calling it a day.