Gia Raquel

After an oddly tiring night, a friend and I ventured out into Long Island City. I have only been there twice in my life, and frankly I would like to make it a tradition that each time is memorable. After a Spanish brunch that reminded too much of home, we walked to the pier. Regardless of my lack of visits to this place, there is this feeling of belonging and nostalgia wrapped up, waiting for me to open it up every time I walk down to the water.

The sun was out, wind blowing, and stories everywhere. Children screamed with glee while adults laughed and enjoyed picnics. I couldn’t help but smile and hope I could be like them. Enjoying a Saturday afternoon as if I never grew up, looking like I am content with my life even if that’s not necessarily the case.
The more people I see, the more stories I have the potential to write. They are music to me, evoking emotion I sometimes forget is normal, but often miss in its absence. My friend and I walked to the water to lie down on the wooden chairs. For such a relaxing moment, we decided to play “Hell’s Bells” by AC/DC. It reminded me of when my father ditched work just so he could take me on adventures. He would always play this song, promising me I’d share his love for it when I got older.

But when the scent of weed hit our noses, we got up and moved on.

Along the way, we stumbled upon a group of people surrounding large, white poster boards. One had “Blank Canvas” written on it while others had little doodles. A man approached us and asked if he would like to be in his video. My poor social skills in school may deceive you because I do enjoy meeting strangers. They all have stories I always love to hear. And this man understood that. In his video, he interviewed artists. With me, he asked what inspired me to become an artist and what I would tell others. Although it began as somber, I wanted to end it with hope. Imagine a song that ends on an uncertain note, as if there will be more and yet it sounds perfect. That’s how I aspire my art to feel – how I wanted that interview to feel. People will wonder if there’s more, but that’s all there is, and they’ll feel oddly happy with it.

Meeting those farther away from home reminds me of birthdays. It’s like a present you get, something special, all to yourself. That experience is yours. I absolutely love it. I don’t even know this man and yet I’ll be remembered as just ‘Gia’ and I’ll remember him as the artist making his video.

How extraordinary is that? Sonder, sonder is the word! Everyone out there has a life, a story to tell. And honestly, that’s what makes me fall in love with living all over again.

Walking a little more down the pier, we could see a couple taking wedding photos with their three children. I’m curious as to how they met. I hope they’re happy.
Behind us was a bus full of books from the Queens Library. How do you get a job like this? (I’d like to apply for one). Do they help decide what books are in here?
Next to that, there was an ice cream truck. No one was in there with the ice cream man. I wonder if he gets lonely, or if he has a family to return to.
I look at everyone and it’s like I’m in my mom’s car, listening to Hey There Delilah, and nothing can go wrong.
All of these strangers remind me that there is so much more out there. We all have the potential to create, regardless of what we think of ourselves. I must often remind myself of this, too.