Autumn 2001

The city plummeted into collective mourning. It was dark, gripping, and held us all. I’d never felt anything like that before and haven’t again—until COVID-19.  Work was cancelled for at least a week or more, and I didn’t want to be alone. Single was quickly replaced by couple. My bachelorette pad was all I wanted, but I shifted to my boyfriend’s Williamsburg apartment after the events of September 11, 2001. We grew closer than we ever would have imagined. And, that bittersweet romance lasted a good five years before we grew apart.

Gradually life came back to the city. I went to work as usual. Started being social again; going to cool parties and meeting up with friends. Evidently, that awkward tune I’d recorded vocals for, had become some sort of a cult classic and legendary in an elitist music scene. At one point, it seemed like everyone who was anyone had a copy of that tune; whether on vinyl or through peer-to-peer sharing. One thing led to another, and I decided to go to Europe. I made Berlin, Germany my home for a year. While there, I met amazing artists with serious passion for their craft. There was a bohemian level of dedication there that quite possibly hadn’t thrived in New York City since the 1980s. However, I missed Brooklyn. Enough dust had settled. It was a good time to go home.