June 19, 1999
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More often than not, my weekends are lived in Brooklyn. I've grown to love the borough with its neighborhoods and charm. But since I'm living in New York for only three months (at least, for now), I feel an obligation to explore as much of the city as possible. So, clad in one of my nicest weekend dresses and ready to endure the sticky heat, I spent the afternoon in midtown Manhattan.

Generally, the area is full of tourists. As much as I hate to say this, it doesn't take much to recognize them. They walk rather slowly, tend to wear jeans and t-shirts, and take the time to utter an apology if somebody bumps into them. And while I'm basically a three-month tourist, it tries my patience to wade through the sea of people in I HEART NEW YORK shirts.

Which raises a valid point: in these past weeks, have I become a New Yorker? It should take a long time to adjust, yet living here seems normal. I know my way around -- if people ask me for directions, I can supply them -- and even the high prices have lost their shock value. The initial overwhelming nature of city living is gone. So in only a handful of weeks, I move back to Michigan for my last year of college. And I'm really quite nervous that it won't feel like home.