My name is Shivam Negi, and I´m writing this letter on the last day of October’18 from a tiny espresso shop in the downtown of Seattle. A city where I´ve just moved from the Beantown, and completed the first 100 days. So, Boston, when I look at Seattle’s skyline from the windows of this shop, it reminds me of your skyline. On some nights, I try to count all the buildings and the countless lights beaming out of each apartment, just like the way I use to do while sitting next to Charles after a day in your Public Library at Copley. In just two years, you have shown me that I can love all the seasons of the year. Boston, you are so cool that I spent almost every weekend photo walking cobbled streets of Beacon Hill and red-bricked row houses in South End gulping cheap coffee from Dunkin Donut which is always just around the corner.
I fell in love with the people you possess, as they go out of their way to help everyone who visits you, and their friendliness and the charm makes them as wonderful as you. I fell in love with your warm, dry summers, which always pushes everyone to head to Esplanade and see sunsets at Charles. On some summer days, it feels, as if the entire sky is burning and the orange hue from the sky is melting into the Charles. Believe me or not, but they’re worth the long snowy winters you have got. I love your bright, cool nights during the fall, they’re worth the short fall days. And sometimes, I used to go to the Commons and flip through some of the articles from Conde Nast Traveler. That place has got the best vibes in the entire city even in the coldest of days during the fall. I love your small population and how it is so diverse that when you walk up the Mass Ave you might hear a different language on every block or when one takes up the orange line T, so many different neighborhoods pop up.
They say that a city loves you in ways no person ever does. It listens to each and every one of your footsteps, it listens to your complaints about weather or work on Monday morning. It sees you smile ear to ear when you see your loved ones coming home from work. It empathizes with your angry groan long past midnight when you fail to catch the last T to your home. For me, Boston, you did the same. You understood me.
It is just wonderful that the White Mountains are just next to you sitting like old wrinkled grandparents, asking people to visit them every autumn or spring. And I just miss hogging on Paradise biryani or a large Piazza from North End each time after coming back from a weekend hike in the trails of New Hampshire. During the fall, the entire New England turns into a carnival filled with colors and air gets infused with apple scent. With colorful Japanese Maple in the Boston Commons, October brings the party as if everyone is high over pumpkin latte. The Beacon Hill adds its own charm to you when the locals living in those beautiful red bricked row houses in the area decorate the streets and their doors with pumpkins and Halloween figures, and suddenly the entire locality turns into a vintage wonderland.
I remember, in my last days in Boston, I went to the very top of the Prudential Tower just to see every street I have walked. And as I looked around, every corner of you holds a memory I have made. Maybe one day, someday, I will visit you and we will relive the memories. Till then, I’ll keep on turning the pages of my life, and when everything ages, you may still be the same you are as of now, like sunshine, like Whiskey.