If you’ve been following me on my platform for any significant amount of time, you know that I was born and raised in New York City. Even though I’ve moved out of the country and settled in West Africa, I remain a New Yorker at heart—forever and always.
People who have known me for decades, those who have only known me for a few years, and even those who have just recently connected with me often ask the same questions:
“Do you miss New York City?”
“Would you ever go back if the conditions were right?”
I tell them that I miss my people, but the conditions will never be right—because New York City is no longer the place I once knew.
Sure, I could return and walk the same streets, visit the same neighborhoods, and stand in front of the same buildings that once framed my childhood. I could stir up old memories, let nostalgia wash over me. But the soul of New York City—the essence of what made it special—has been gone for a long time.
I left New York in early 2001, and even then, something had already shifted. The city had started to change in ways I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was as if I could feel the transformation happening beneath my feet, like an underground train rattling in the distance before it arrives.
Growing up in New York was an experience unlike any other. The city in the ’70s was alive—not just with movement but with soul. It wasn’t just the people, the noise, or the energy; even the dysfunctions had a certain beauty. Those imperfections taught me about human nature, about resilience, about the art of survival.
But time passed, and something was lost. The city became more commercialized, more plastic. The unique characters—the ones who gave New York its undeniable flavor—began to disappear. Some passed away, some moved away, and others were simply pushed out. With them, the flavor of New York faded.
It’s like going to your favorite restaurant only to find that the chef who made your favorite dish is gone. The new chef follows the same recipe, but the taste just isn’t the same. The magic is missing.
I don’t say this to put anyone down—especially those who still live there. If you claim New York as your home, I respect that. But the New York I knew, the one I loved, had a distinct mindset. It had neighborhoods that were unapologetically themselves, whether it was Bay Ridge or Bath Beach in Brooklyn, Harlem in Manhattan, or Flatbush, where the Caribbean community thrived. There was a pride in each area, a deep-rooted identity that couldn’t be erased.
Even the wealthy—those who lived on both sides of Central Park—still had a certain grit about them. Money didn’t soften them; they carried the same tough edge that ran through the veins of every real New Yorker. We had an unspoken understanding. We knew when to speak, when to stay quiet, when to stand our ground, and when to walk away.
But that energy, that raw, electric spirit, has been bleached out of New York City permanently.
I had to come to terms with the fact that the New York I longed for no longer existed—not physically, not culturally. I realized that the sense of community I missed couldn’t be found elsewhere; I had to cultivate it from within. Because that Western mindset—”every man for himself, chase the money, secure the bag, step over whoever you need to”—has poisoned much of the world.
Where I live now, the crime is low, and I’m left alone to think, to create, to reflect. I can relive New York through my memories. But returning? No, that would be like standing at the grave of a loved one and expecting them to speak back. You go to the grave because it’s the closest you can physically be to the person you lost, but the real conversation happens in your mind, in your memories.
That’s what New York is to me now. A place I carry within me.
So no, I don’t need to go back. Because I am New York City. I carry the memories, the victories, the struggles, and the lessons that shaped me. I embody the essence of the city in the same way a seasoned lawyer no longer needs to carry books—because the law is ingrained in his very being.
When I think of New York, I don’t think of the gentrified, sterilized version that exists today. I think of the real New York. The one where Times Square was still gritty, where characters roamed the streets with stories to tell. I think of Greenwich Village, with its cobblestone streets and underground jazz clubs. I think of late-night bike rides through Jamaica, Queens—Richmond Hill, South Ozone Park, Springfield Gardens. I think of a time when the city pulsed with the young, restless energy of the Black community, when we thrived, when we built, when we knew who we were.
People often tell me, “Wow, you’re strong for your age. You don’t look like you’re about to be 62.” They ask me what my secret is, assuming it’s diet, exercise, or good genetics. But the truth is, I was forged in an environment that showed me every shade of humanity—the good, the bad, and the ugly. That kind of exposure shapes you. It sharpens your instincts. It gives you a depth that no book or classroom can provide.
I was also blessed with two parents who instilled discipline, wisdom, and principles in me—things that protected me from the traps so many fall into. My only weakness? Well-shaped women eager to spend time with me. And if that’s a crime in today’s twisted world, then lock me up and throw away the key.
But here’s the thing about real New Yorkers: We tell it like it is. Whether it’s good, bad, or uncomfortable, we don’t sugarcoat reality. And in a world drowning in social media filters and fabricated personas, we need that kind of raw honesty more than ever.
Even if you’re not from New York—whether you’re from Chicago, Detroit, Philly, or anywhere else—if you carry that spirit, then you’re my family. Because this isn’t just about a physical location. It’s about a mentality, an energy, a code. There are still people out there who embody what New York once was—people who are real, people who stand on principle.
So let me hear from you. If you feel what I’m saying, if you remember that time, if you still carry that fire inside you—let’s build. Let’s vibe.
And to my first love, my foundation, my eternal muse—
Thank you, New York City.
