Response: “Dispatch from Flyover Country” by Meghan O’Gieblyn

O'Gieblyn’s piece paints a clear picture of what used to be the Midwest and what the Midwest is now. Similar to the Berry piece, this essay was drenched in missing a home that’s changed over time. Throughout the article O’Gieblyn takes us down memory lane about teaching in Madison and her refound love for the Midwest. Gentrification is the main thing to take away from this essay. O’Gieblyn speaks from a place of genuinity and misses the memories she once produced that can’t be re-lived anymore because of the oversaturation of the commerce industry and the new high rise condos that take over historical moments. It grows tiring to talk about everything else, to think only of the aesthetic of a town and to be victim to sales talk all the time. In a way, O’Gieblyn describes a toxic way of experimenting with living, involving the economy and a lack of empathy.

Both O’Gieblyn and Berry seem to be victims of gentrification, and the one person I can relate this to is my mother. I asked my mom what she wished was the same back in Lebanon. She said three things, the feel of a Lebanese apartment, authentic Lebanese food and greenery. The usual Lebanese apartment smells like blossom water, charcoal and Persian tobacco. Specifically Persian tobacco. My mom explained that now when she walks into some apartments the only thing she smells is the burning metal of all the electronics in every house. Apartments now resemble catalogue magazines rather than the person who lives in the home. There’s a disappointment walking into a home and the first thing you hear is the volume of the TV rather than a greeting. My mother explained that this small change causes a big loss in etiquette.

In another example, there’s a place called Downtown in Lebanon that’s a circle of buildings that are filled with shops and restaurants. There’s a large clock tower in the middle of the circle and you’ll usually find kids playing around it or people selling toys. When my parents were growing up in Lebanon they went to Downtown to go to many of the family owned restaurants, greet the chefs and waiters and have authentic Lebanese dishes. Overtime, Downtown became a large tourist attraction and thus had most of its family owned restaurants stripped from the area and replaced with artisanal cafes and fusion food places. It turned into a place meant for a blog rather than a memory.

With all these new movie theatres, random luxury malls, parking lots, expensive cafes and etc, creates a loss for one thing Lebanon used to be well-known for...its greenery. There’s a specific place people go to re-experience classic Lebanon, and that’s the mountains. The mountains are where everything is the same, local culture thrives because of it’s tight family and people take trips up there to humble themselves whenever they can. The city of Lebanon has turned into a congested work space that’s constantly noisy with political arguments at every corner, nightlife that does not stop and the constant need for change and modernism. Therefore, the mountains are where people go to visit old relatives to remember where they came from. To fetch water from the well, to pick fruits out of the garden, to make breakfast with a mountain view, to make fermented yogurt by hand. The culture in Lebanon will never die, but it’s precious therefore it hides in sections of the country for people to remember where they are.

Response: “Here Is New York” by EB White

In this essay, EB White diagnoses New York through the city’s implication that it will provide a sense of fulfillment or frustration. White observes New York through a specific lens that almost any other New Yorker would experience although he acts as the narrator for these observations. I agreed with almost everything White claimed New York was, from it blending the gift of privacy with the excitement of participation to the claim that New York absorbs everything. The repetition of “I did not attend” emphasizes the spoiled everyday lifestyle of being in New York. The oversaturation of events, activities, concerts and adventures are so limitless that it starts to numb the average New Yorker. I belong to the third New York, the one that I see as a goal, a final destination. It’s a city that fuses cement, chaos, charm, and confidence that I put on like armor.

The month before going to New York was a constant panic attack. All I ever heard about was the energy of the city and I did not know if I could live up to it. My goal was set on finding fulfillment rather than feeling out of breath. The plane ride to New York was even more debilitating, causing me to regret my decision as soon as we had thirty minutes left. When I entered my apartment and my roommate asked me “When do you work?”, I finally felt fulfillment. Everyone said I would thrive in the city before I came here; it put a weight on me to prove I’d be alright. Although I did not need to prove anything, the proof was natural. I adapted to New York in around four days. The etiquette of the subway system created a rubric in my head: finding the corner to stand in, prioritizing a seat next to the door, how to pivot for people whenever it’s their stop and to keep a backpack between your legs to increase space. The one thing I loved about New York, is all you have to do is observe to learn anything. 

I had to accept that everything the first time around will be a mess up in New York. It’s about having the courage to fall flat the first time around then pick yourself up every other time. There’s no room, time or space for shame, pride and hesitance. It’s a place where anxiety is confined to spaces indoors, but outdoors anxiety is hidden to function. An example would be swiping your metrocard. Once that metrocard sticks out like a tongue at the machine there’s a sense of satisfaction. Then you go to swipe and will probably mess it up the first go around. Then by the third swipe you’ll muffle “fuck” under your breath because you can feel the impatience of the person behind you taking a big sigh knowing you’re a newbie to the city. It’s okay because in around a week, you’ll become the impatient person judging a newbie to the city.

Hopping from Kuwait, to Waco, Texas and then to New York was a thrilling ride that felt like I was stretched from planet to planet. The most liberating thing about New York was how open-minded it naturally was. I came from an Arab country where homosexuality is condemned and could even result in deportation. After that, I was going to a Baptist university in Waco, Texas a town known for an infamous cult, Magnolia and conservatism. Finally, I was catapulted into New York, a place where even at its grimiest, was bursting with color and flavor. In Kuwait there was no LGBT+ exposure that I could adapt to. In Waco I would go out and could spot every gay guy in the room because the town was small and toxic. In New York every second there’s something queer, and that’s extremely liberating (and overwhelming) for someone who has never been exposed to an environment such as this one.

New York is a constant test for my confidence and my self-esteem. It’s an adrenaline ridden city that stresses me to the core, but lets off a sigh of satisfaction every time afterwards. New York is a constant tourniquet wrapped around my head that I loosen whenever the going gets tough, but it never feels wrong when it does.