This was my first morning in New York.
Breakfast — somehow, it felt more important than usual.

“Will I be able to enjoy meals here?”
“Will this be part of my daily life from now on?”

A bit of nervousness mixed with curiosity as I approached the buffet.
But when I saw the variety laid out in front of me, I felt relieved.

“Looks pretty balanced. This should work.”
That small realization eased my worries.

As I sat down and took a bite of the bagel, I noticed it was firmer than what I was used to.
Still, it didn’t bother me much.

“Maybe this is just how New York is.”
That thought felt kind of charming.

With each bite, I could feel myself slowly settling in.
“This is going to be okay,” I thought.

It wasn’t just about the breakfast.
It was about finding a little sense of comfort in this completely new place.

It was my first free day in New York.
No school yet — just me and the city.

Even though the jet lag still lingered and the cold felt sharper than I expected,
I was filled with determination.

“I came all this way. I’m going to enjoy every second of this.”

I clearly remember that thought running through my mind as I stepped out of the hotel.

This was the nearest subway station — 28th Street.
Simple, yet somehow charming with its tiled signs.
But honestly… figuring out which entrance to use was a bit of a challenge.

I ended up going down the wrong side more than once.
“Ah, not this way again,” I laughed to myself, slowly getting used to how things worked here.

Still, there was something exciting about it.
This was all part of being in a new place, after all.

As I got on the train heading towards Wall Street,
a sense of adventure kicked in.

“Alright… let’s see what downtown New York has to offer.”

With that, my day of exploration quietly began beneath the city streets.

While waiting for the subway at 28th Street, an ad for SUITS LA caught my eye.
It brought back memories — I had only watched up to season two, but I really admired Harvey and Mike’s way of working.

They were sharp and fast, always moving things forward with precision.
Yet, even in their no-nonsense, efficient approach, there was a certain warmth — a human touch in every decision they made.

Watching them back then, I often found myself relating deeply.
In my own work, I’ve always played a similar role: breaking down challenges, finding solutions, and leading the way.
And just like them, while pushing forward, I’ve faced moments of doubt and emotional conflict.
That balance — between staying cool and showing care — resonated with me.

Seeing that poster here in New York sparked something.
“This city, this way of working… maybe I could fit in here too.”

In that quiet subway station, the idea didn’t feel far-fetched at all.
It felt… possible.

When I finally stood there, staring at the distant Statue of Liberty through my smartphone camera, I couldn’t help but reflect.

In the past, people from all over the world crossed oceans on ships, dreaming of new opportunities and a better life. When they arrived in New York, this very statue was the first thing they saw. It must have been a powerful symbol of hope — welcoming them, telling them they had finally reached a place where dreams could begin.

Looking at it now, I felt connected to that history.
Here I was, far from home, yet filled with the same desire — to discover something new and step forward bravely into the unknown.

The statue wasn’t just a tourist spot for me in that moment.
It became a reminder: You can create your own future. You belong here too, just like all those who came before.

Even though it was far away and looked small from where I stood, the feeling it gave me was big.
It quietly but firmly encouraged me to keep moving forward.

The sky over Battery Park was unbelievably clear that day.
The air was so cold that it cut straight through me — probably close to minus 10 degrees Celsius — and the icy wind whipped past my face without mercy.
Still, I couldn’t help but fall in love with the way the crisp air made everything look sharper, clearer, more alive.

My fingers were numb, struggling to press the shutter button on my phone.
It hurt, a little.
But even through the sting of the cold, I knew I had to capture this moment.

Not just for me, standing there shivering in the moment — but for my future self.
For the version of me who would one day look back at this photo and remember the wild, brilliant blue of the New York sky.
And maybe even for someone else, someday.
Someone I would want to share this breathtaking view with.
Someone I would want to show: This is the world I once stood in. This is the feeling I had. This is the New York I found.

Even as the cold bit deeper into my skin, I smiled quietly.
Because in that moment, I knew:
Some memories are worth chasing, no matter how cold the wind gets.

Pushed forward by the cold wind between the tall buildings, I finally arrived at the New York Stock Exchange.
Standing before this majestic building, I could feel the weight of history pressing down.
For hundreds of years, this was the place where people gathered and moved the world’s economy forward.
Even though things have shifted to digital now, the aura of being “the center of the world” still lingers here.

I suddenly remembered the small statue of a child standing across from the building.
That statue seemed like a symbol of citizens watching over economic and political power.
It made me think — power doesn’t always mean justice.
And that’s why people need to keep their eyes open, to hold power accountable.

In Japan, this kind of awareness isn’t always in the forefront of daily life.
But here, shaped by the history of the citizen revolutions, it’s part of the culture.
This wasn’t just a tourist spot.
Standing there, I felt like my own thoughts deepened, even just a little, as I quietly reflected on the meaning behind this powerful place.

I always thought “Wall Street” referred to the tall buildings standing like walls on both sides of the street.
But when I found this historical marker, I realized — no, there really was a wall here.

Built by Dutch settlers, that simple wooden wall was meant to protect the area.
No one back then could have imagined that this place would one day become the heart of global finance.

Standing there, I felt strangely moved.
What started as a humble boundary had become a symbol of ambition and power.
The footsteps of history still echoed beneath my feet, quietly telling the story of how things change, grow, and evolve in ways no one can predict.

Trinity Church.
I hadn’t expected to see such a classic Gothic structure here in New York.
To me, Gothic architecture always felt more European — France, Italy, Germany…
So when I stumbled upon this church, I was honestly surprised and deeply moved.
Maybe that’s just my lack of knowledge, but still… it felt special.

What I loved even more was the contrast.
This timeless church, standing quietly as skyscrapers grew taller and shinier all around it.
People’s faith, steady and unchanged through generations, surrounded by a city that’s constantly evolving.
That contrast — old and new side by side — felt so New York to me.

It was also my first time seeing a Christian cemetery.
The gravestones resting quietly in the shadow of towering glass buildings reminded me that behind the city’s endless energy, countless lives and stories have come and gone.
New York isn’t just about chasing the future.
It’s also about respecting and carrying forward the memories of the past.

I didn’t want to just see it from afar.
So, I decided to head to Liberty Island — the classic tourist route, of course.
But honestly, I was really looking forward to getting closer.

As the boat moved across the water, Lower Manhattan came into view.
It was breathtaking.
Tall glass towers, iconic buildings — the ultimate New York skyline right in front of me.
This was the kind of view you see in movies and postcards… and now, here I was, part of that scene.

The people on the boat were all excited, chatting, laughing, taking photos.
I could feel the shared energy and joy.
And being there among them, I felt good.
I was really here. I was really part of this.

But… at the same time, I noticed something.
Almost everyone was with someone — family, friends, loved ones — sharing this moment together.
And me? I was alone.
That little twinge of loneliness quietly slipped into my heart.
Still, I told myself, “This is part of the journey too.”
The joy, the solitude, the mixed emotions — they all make this trip mine.

Finally — right in front of me.
The Statue of Liberty, standing tall and proud.
I’d seen it earlier from far away, but now… now I was almost there.
The boat was approaching Liberty Island, and I could feel my excitement growing with every second.

It wasn’t just about sightseeing anymore.
This was something symbolic.
The moment felt like stepping closer to history — closer to the hopes and dreams of people from generations past.

And here I was, in the same place, in a completely different time, yet sharing that same sense of wonder.
Soon, I would stand right at the foot of this world-famous statue.
I couldn’t wait to look up and feel the presence of something that has welcomed so many to America.

“Almost there,” I thought, my heart pounding with anticipation.

There it was — Lower Manhattan, spread wide under the clear blue sky.
The iconic skyline. The unmistakable silhouette of New York.
And on the far right… Brooklyn Bridge.
Just a glimpse, but enough to make me think,
“I want to visit there too during this trip.”

But honestly… I was struggling.
The icy wind, the biting cold, the exhaustion from jet lag — it was all catching up with me.
Standing there on Liberty Island, even though the view was spectacular, a part of me just wanted to return to the hotel and rest.

Still, I didn’t want to let this moment slip away.
I raised my camera, fingers numb from the cold, and captured this scene.
“Even if I’m tired now, someday I’ll look back at this and remember — I was really here.”

That thought alone gave me just enough strength to smile and hold on a little longer.

Back at the hotel after a long, freezing day…
I was beyond exhausted. My fingers were still numb, and all I wanted was warmth and comfort.
So, I decided to cook.
Not that I was confident — honestly, cooking isn’t really my thing.
But somehow, in that moment, making a simple meal felt right.
It was like saying, “Good job today,” to myself.

I picked up some ingredients at the nearby supermarket, and with a little trial and error, I made this plate.
Pasta with tomato sauce, a few slices of salami, and a banana on the side.
Oh, and of course — red wine.
I even went to a liquor store and asked for a recommendation.
The shop staff kindly helped me choose this Californian wine.
It wasn’t fancy, but it felt special.

Sitting there, sipping wine and eating my own cooking, I felt strangely proud.
The city outside was still buzzing, but here in my little room, I created a tiny, cozy world just for me.

“This is part of the adventure too,” I thought with a soft smile.