Seeing New York as New York

“Thirty years ago, before I began studying Zen, I saw mountains as mountains, and waters as waters. Later, when I gained insight and entered the path, I saw that mountains were not mountains, and waters were not waters. But now that I have found a place of rest, I once again see mountains simply as mountains, and waters simply as waters.”— Zen Master Qingyuan Weixin, Compendium of Five Lamps

Act I: Seeing Mountains as Mountains

In my childhood memories, New York came with its own soundtrack.

Whenever I sat in front of the TV with my parents watching the hit 90s drama A Native of Beijing in New York, its theme song etched itself into my mind. I may have forgotten the plot, but the deep and weary voice singing, “For thousands of miles I search for you, yet you do not care,” left a lasting impression.

To me back then, “New York” wasn’t just a geographical coordinate on a map, but a sparkling concept. Over the years, this concept took shape through the American family humour of Growing Pains, dubbed cartoons on the Disney Club, and the suitcases my American relatives brought back during visits.

New York was the Ring Pop I licked until it shone like a real diamond, the decadent cookies in ornate tins, and the dolls dressed in the latest fashions. In an era when material goods and information were just beginning to flow freely in China, this distant country became my ultimate synonym for perfection and abundance.

This was my initial phase of “seeing mountains as mountains.” Those mountains and waters were the “American Dream,” constructed entirely out of candy, rose-colored glasses, and infinite possibilities.

Act II: Seeing Mountains Not as Mountains

Carrying this enduring fascination, I was in my twenties by the time I finally set foot in America.

At first glance, New York perfectly mirrored the countless rehearsals my mind had staged under the influence of American pop culture. Standing on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I immediately saw the overlapping shadows of Gossip Girl’s Upper East Side elite. Wandering past the red brick walls of the West Village, I half-expected to bump into Carrie Bradshaw in her Manolo Blahniks. Even the noisy yellow cabs in Times Square and the rushed professionals carrying coffee cups perfectly matched the urban templates The Devil Wears Prada and Friends had built for me.

In that moment, I greedily breathed in the city’s air, walking miles in four-inch heels across familiar streets. The city’s pulse was so strong that I desperately wanted to embed myself into its puzzle, even treating “staying in New York” as the ultimate goal of my life.

However, love at first sight is often just an infatuation with a carefully curated facade.

As I dove into journalism and the media industry, that perfect filter was irreparably shattered. When you step into the “backstage” of the information age, such as seeing how the camera lens selectively highlights only the most glamorous corners, and how a narrative is meticulously packaged into the myth of the “City on a Hill”, a profound sense of nihilism sets in.

In countless news scenes and in-depth reports, I stumbled into the city’s deliberately folded-away corners: towering skyscrapers masking systemic injustice, and the carnival of consumerism draining the survival space of the working class. It was like falling in love with an idol’s flawless public persona, only to accidentally walk into their dressing room and witness their exhaustion and gaping flaws.

This phase of “seeing mountains not as mountains” peaked when I returned to New York after the pandemic.

By a twist of fate, my current company requires me to visit New York annually for team retreats. But post-COVID New York felt like a patient who had survived a severe illness but was left with crippling chronic symptoms. Homeless individuals lined once-prosperous street corners; the air was thick with the acrid stench of urine and an inexplicable hostility. The subway were frequently haunted by erratic, screaming individuals, keeping my nerves constantly on edge.

Reality brutally tore my “American Dream” to shreds. During those few years, I fiercely resented everything about the city: its grime, its crumbling order, and most of all, my own blind expectations of it.

Act III: Seeing Mountains Just as Mountains

The turning point happened on a random ordinary autumn dusk in New York last year.

After the team retreat ended, I gave myself a few days to simply wander the streets. I aimlessly ducked into a cramped but warm corner dessert shop. When that rich, dense bite of New York Cheesecake melted in my mouth, I suddenly felt a long-lost sense of comfort.

I began to realise that New York’s true charm never lay in its grand labels or flawless illusions, but in its granular vitality.

It is the collective holding of breath the moment the lights dim in a Broadway theatre; it is the long, quiet pause in front of a painting at MoMA. Here, no one cares if you are wearing bizarre clothes or sporting exaggerated makeup. New York possesses a cold yet profoundly generous acceptance. Having travelled to over forty countries, I still believe New York is the most forgiving place on earth to be freely, even weirdly, yourself.

I looked at the New Yorkers around me. Even those with “old money” backgrounds hustle in this urban colosseum, working late into the night and rubbing their bloodshot eyes over a project. The legendary “American Dream” wasn’t the cinematic miracle descending from the sky. Instead, it had materialised into a fiercely grounded law of the jungle.

Next month, I will step onto this land once again. It is the season when the scent of Pumpkin Spice Lattes fills the streets, and Halloween madness quietly brews. The autumn wind carries a biting chill, coffee shops radiate the aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin, and the alleyways pulse with a quirky, flamboyant, and intensely fiery energy.

While booking my hotel, a sudden sense of absolute relief washed over me.

What exactly is New York? It is neither a perpetual Disney fairytale nor a dystopian wasteland from the news headlines. It is simply a city, an intense atmosphere with a complex, harsh, yet wildly resilient personality.

The mistake we often make is blindly worshipping a place through a gilded filter, only to outright reject it once that filter breaks. But the essence of a city is never obligated to fulfil anyone’s fantasies.

Thirty years ago, through a screen, I saw mountains as mountains, believing it was the starting point of a dream. Later, among the tearing of reality and disillusionment, I saw mountains not as mountains, believing the dream had shattered. Today, under the aroma of pumpkin spice and the chaotic hum of an autumn day, I finally look at New York and see the mountain just as a mountain, and the water just as water.

I no longer need to deify it, nor do I need to despise it. I still love New York, for its unapologetic authenticity and its soul, woven from chaos and vitality.

Long time no see, New York. This time, I have stripped away all the filters. I am coming only for your true heart :)