The Ghost Town

Governor's Island, New York has historically had a hand in the history of the City. To some, it is just some inaccessible Island that has been there off the southern tip of Manhattan that one passed on the Staten Island Ferry on the way to the outer boroughs. To others, it was home. A small village in the middle of a mega-tropolis. Recently though with the change of hand from it's former Military post (which has belonged to the government almost since it was taken from the Indians in the 1700's), it is back again open to the public.

For me however, it is the twilight zone. It is a strange feeling to see you home town, the places where you once lived, had the keys, and played with your friends, turned into a National Museum. Suddenly my old room was off limits, a friend's house turned into a store, and the living room hangout for our Friday night ritual of listening to Depeche Mode and dreaming of having a new life in a place in the East Village, That very room was now just a fashion show. But somehow I felt like kicking everyone out ! Couldn't they see the ghosts?

Wandering around the Island, I heard people conversing over the map, "Which way is Nolan Park". I could only help thinking "Idiot's it's just down the Road!" I thought, How could they not know?

I was lucky enough that they gunmen putting on their costumes were in my old house and luckily got a chance to peek in my old home where we used to live. Lucky me, just at the right place at the right time.
Leaving that day, I felt strangely proud to know that I had a great opportunity to live on that tiny Island off the tip of Manhattan in a Fort with cannons pointing into the down town maze of concrete and glass. I felt oddly right at home, but brought back to reality as they herded us back on the ferry, whispers of the past in my ears, until the Boat sounded its horn at that same moment, it was gone.