So, I pour myself a fresh cup of Americano and sit by the window, allowing memories from the past to resurface. I still remember the day I flew from New Delhi to NYC. Though that was some nine years ago, everything about those early days still remains fresh in my mind, as though it all happened just yesterday. When I’d seen this hotel for the very first time, standing tall and proud in all its glory, I had never imagined that I’d ever be able to even step inside and have a cup of coffee here, let alone stay in one of its suites. Clearly, I’ve come a long way.

I started out as an assistant in the photocopying unit back at college. My first income was 10 dollars per hour. Can you imagine? But that’s the most amazing part of being here. No one, literally no one gives a fuck about what you do to earn your bread and butter, whether it’s working in a photocopy unit or at Beta. If you step into any two apartments here in my building, you’ll find that they largely look the same, irrespective of whether one is a doctor’s house and the other a carpenter’s. Back in India though, their lives would’ve been in stark contrast, and their houses would’ve reflected this contrast. That’s the primary reason why moving to the West was the big Indian dream during the last few decades. It promised great opportunities and equal pay for all if you were willing to work hard. You didn’t have to stand out to make it in America. Grit and determination were all you needed.

They say you should grow where you’re planted. But I wished to bloom, and I couldn’t really bloom where I’d been sowed as a seedling. I knew I would have to uproot myself and find a new place to set down roots and become a tree. I did just that and I’ve been growing since then, although sometimes I put in a lot of effort and sometimes I remain oblivious to the process. I’m a little like the only tropical plant in a garden full of temperate shrubs. And that sums up my dating life too! Imagine how challenging pollination would be for this solitary tropical plant! But packing up your entire life in a suitcase and leaving home forever is difficult. It takes courage, and sometimes, heartbreaking circumstances.

If I’d been able to clear even one competitive exam that year, I wouldn’t have had to leave my country. But that’s exactly what didn’t happen. And then, my mother received a call from Uncle Joe.

‘It’s not the end of the world! Just let her appear for the SATs.’ Uncle Joe’s booming voice had reverberated through the speaker of my mother’s battered and outdated second-hand smartphone.