I have noticed the rapid changes occurring in my neighborhood and how the new generation of people have impacted the flow of the surroundings. The little things I used to not notice are now all I see.
I remember going to Twin Donut five years ago, soon after I’d moved to my neighborhood: Washington Heights. It was right at the entrance to the subway station, and my favorite thing to order there was their oatmeal, avena, which I’d take on the train with me to school. It was served in a to-go coffee cup and the consistency was more something you drank than ate with a spoon. It was well spiced and comforting and reminded me of when I was young. Whenever I walked in the door, the people who worked there were always friendly and smiled. Then one day a “Closing Soon” sign appeared, and soon after, the place was empty and blue wooden panels sprang up around it. Next a “Boston Market” sign popped up. At first I was excited because their food had always been a treat when I lived in New Rochelle, but when the Boston Market finally opened it wasn’t as special as I remembered. That’s when I realized how much I’d taken Twin Donut for granted.
This isn’t the first time that a business has closed down because of how the neighborhood’s demographic changed. It makes me wonder what came first: the real estate agents driving the change or the new people moving in? By making the neighborhood more “desirable” (and who makes that call?), do the business owners become less involved in knowing who lives there? It makes me wonder if you can have a personal connection only if it’s a small family-run business. There used to be a lovely older couple who owned a florist shop on the corner of 158th and Broadway. The windows were always filled with lush plants, lots of living things. They didn’t care much about keeping it neat and were good at what they did. Now there’s a GNC (General Nutrition Centers) in its place. Where there used to be natural light, it’s now artificially bright, and flower food is replaced by whey and protein.
Don’t get me wrong, through it all I still love my neighborhood. When I walk out the front door of my building, I feel bittersweet curiosity as to what will come next. When the places I love close, I get a little nervous because change is good . . . in moderation. It’s hard to know when a neighborhood might lose its identity. You can get to know a neighborhood by its people; however, it’s up to the community to keep its values in sight.