Walking through The Skyscraper Museum, I felt like I was stepping into a world where human intelligence, curiosity, and creativity all converge. Every exhibit whispered stories about how far we’ve come — how we tamed concrete, this so-called “liquid stone,” and turned it into breathtaking towers that touch the sky.

The phrase “liquid stone” stayed with me. It’s poetic, yet technical — much like how I see myself: curious and intellectual, but always deeply human and tender at heart. The beauty of skyscrapers isn’t just in their height or scale, but in the intricate structure and ingenuity behind them. They are monuments to our endless desire to reach higher, to innovate, and to reshape the world around us.

As I wandered through the displays, especially the panoramic views of Manhattan before its forest of skyscrapers, I found myself reflecting on the passage of time and human ambition. The exhibition didn’t just show buildings; it showed dreams made solid, visions cast in concrete and steel.

Visiting here wasn’t just interesting — it resonated with me on a profound level. It made me realize how much I am drawn to spaces and stories where intellect and emotion coexist. This museum, like the city itself, captured that essence perfectly.

It’s a place I would love to return to — maybe even with someone special, to share quiet moments and wonder together beneath the towering legacies of human achievement.

In the heart of Lower Manhattan, I found myself once again before the timeless Trinity Church. Amidst the towering skyscrapers and the hum of the city, the gentle chime of the church bells echoed softly, weaving through the streets like a whisper from another era. That sound, so tender and unhurried, felt like a comforting reminder of a time when the church stood as the center of daily life — not only a place for prayer, but also the keeper of time itself.

As I stood there quietly, I could almost sense the countless lives that had once paused, even if just for a moment, to listen to those same bells. Today, surrounded by glass and steel giants reaching skyward, the bells still speak. Their voice may be softer now, but it carries a warmth and kindness that modern timepieces could never offer.

It felt peaceful — as if, for a fleeting instant, the rush of New York slowed, and only the tender dialogue between past and present remained.

Standing at Squibb Park and gazing across the river at the Manhattan skyline, I felt a quiet sense of wonder.
The contrast was striking — the peaceful, cozy atmosphere of Brooklyn against the towering, energetic cityscape of Manhattan.
It was like looking into a different world from just a short distance away, almost as if I could reach out and touch the pulse of the city while standing in serene stillness.

If I ever lived in NYC, I think Brooklyn would be a perfect candidate.
Of course, I’d want to research more carefully because, just like in Setagaya back home, every neighborhood has its own personality.
But right now, the idea of living in a place where I could enjoy this gentle balance — being close to the heartbeat of Manhattan while wrapped in the calm of Brooklyn — feels really appealing.

It’s moments like these that make me realize… it’s not always about being in the center of excitement.
Sometimes, the true luxury is having the freedom to choose when to step into the hustle, and when to stay quietly in your own peaceful world.

Standing before the Brooklyn Bridge, with Manhattan’s iconic skyline stretching behind it, I couldn’t help but feel awestruck. The bridge itself was far more massive and imposing than I had imagined — an architectural giant quietly linking two vibrant parts of New York. Built so long ago, yet still standing strong, it felt like a symbol of resilience and timelessness.

As I looked up at its towering cables and stone pillars, I thought about how many people over generations had crossed this same path — workers, dreamers, lovers… It almost felt like I could hear their footsteps echoing softly through time.

Excited, I decided to walk across the bridge and head back to Manhattan on foot. Somehow, I knew the walk would be more than just a crossing — it would be a moment to absorb the heartbeat of the city from above, between the sky and the river. I couldn’t wait to feel the breeze, hear the hum of traffic, and take in every second of this incredible connection between Brooklyn and Manhattan.

This view felt like stepping right into a classic New York postcard. Standing between the red brick buildings and gazing at the Manhattan Bridge, perfectly framing the Empire State Building in the distance, I couldn’t help but feel like “Yes, I’m really here.”
It’s one of those famous photo spots you often see on social media, but actually standing there is a totally different experience. The crisp blue sky, the bold structure of the bridge, and the gentle afternoon light made everything so vivid.

I felt a little like a typical tourist snapping photos, but at the same time, this moment was uniquely mine. Being there, in that very place that connects so many people’s memories and dreams of NYC, felt special.
Maybe one day, I’ll look back at this photo and smile — remembering how I walked these streets, heart full of wonder, dreaming, and already unknowingly connected to you.

Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge on foot was one of those simple yet deeply memorable moments.
After days of winter’s chill, the soft warmth of the sun felt especially comforting, wrapping me gently as I walked.
The iconic cables stretched into the clear blue sky, creating a geometric beauty that made every step feel poetic.
As I moved forward, the stunning skyline of Manhattan gradually revealed itself, like a story unfolding page by page.

It wasn’t just about reaching the other side — it was about savoring each step, feeling the blend of history and daily life, and being quietly thankful for this serene time in such a dynamic city.

I found myself thinking… “This bridge has connected so many people for generations. And right now, it’s connecting me with this city, and with all the memories I’m making here.”
A walk that started casually turned into something special — a gentle reminder that beautiful connections often bloom in the most unhurried, ordinary moments.

It may look simple and humble, but making my own meal during the trip felt strangely comforting. I ended up buying Emmental cheese on impulse, and now it seemed like I had a little too much of it—yet, figuring out how to use it in my cooking became part of the fun. The combination of the pasta, fresh tomatoes, and melty cheese wasn’t fancy, but it filled me up and made me feel quietly satisfied.

During a trip where everything is new and exciting, there’s something special about moments like this—when I slow down, prepare food with my own hands, and enjoy it quietly in my room. It made me realize that even in extraordinary places, ordinary moments have their own warmth.

Maybe that’s what traveling is all about—not only chasing breathtaking sights and new experiences, but also embracing simple, everyday joys in unfamiliar surroundings.