I stood outside my Lipton Hall dorm, teary-eyed, clutching my camera to my chest with one hand while the other formed a desperate wave — the kind that meant, “please don’t leave” as I watched my mom and sister drive away on Sixth Avenue. When the car turned a corner and disappeared, I realized I was alone, with nothing but my camera and the entirety of New York City.

When I got to New York, I was a dreamer: lost, eager and occasionally stupid. I arrived here determined. I wanted to be part of this city — I wanted to be something bigger than myself.

My love for photography grew from my mom. When she arrived in the United States from Brazil, photography was one of the side hustles she picked up to make ends meet. In a country that didn’t always welcome her, photography did. And it did the same for me. Growing up, I often felt like I didn’t belong. But photography embraced me, flaws and all, and loved me anyway.

I was grateful to pursue my lifelong passion for photography at NYU, but the first weeks were tough. Alone in my cramped triple dorm, I’d stare out the small window above my bed, wondering if I’d ever fit here. The more I felt like I was falling behind, the more I began to wonder if New York was for me. And that thought broke me.

So I started going on photography walks for hours every day. I walked through Washington Square Park, capturing the skaters racing around the fountain and kids running through the grass — just me, my headphones blasting “The Winner Is” by DeVotchKa and Mychael Danna, and my camera, as if walking aimlessly could somehow lead me home. 

The beauty of street photography is noticeable from afar: the way someone’s laugh lights up a street, the way their eyes hold hidden hopes, and the thought that maybe, if you look long enough, the city will start to notice you too.

On one gloomy September afternoon photo walk, I came across a family with one little boy, all looking down, sitting under a gazebo, laughing together in golden light. Everything was still — and in a constantly busy city, this moment was theirs. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

For what felt like the first time in weeks, I stopped walking. My restless feet came to a halt, and I realized something had changed — what began as distant admiration had deepened into love. I had fallen in love with New York, and quietly hoped it loved me back.

I realized I no longer had to be an outsider. I wanted to let New York see all of me — the good, the bad, the person behind the camera — and, by the same token, I wanted to let myself see all of New York.

Thus birthed a photography project I did for class, called “Heartstrings of Sonder,” where my friend and I carried a sign that said, “TELL ME ABOUT YOUR FIRST LOVE.” We went to public parks and busy corners. Sometimes people came to us. Sometimes we went to them. “Who or what was your first love?” I would ask. “What would you say to that person, place or thing?”

In every story I heard, I found pieces of myself. As I spoke to and photographed strangers, New York revealed its humanity. Eight-and-a-half-year-old Gabriel, who said his first love was his bunny, Whiskers. Dennis, who still remembers his first love, Rhonda the Redhead from his childhood. Dante, whose first love was drumming. I wanted to embrace all of it.

By the end of my first year, I had taken enough photos on my street photography walks to make my first book. Each page paired an image with a memory — like page one, with statues holding hands, page six with a mother embracing her child and page 11 with girls dancing in the park as if they were the only two people in the world.

When I came to New York, I wanted to become something bigger than myself. What I didn’t know was that I had already become exactly what I was searching for. New York is a city with so much compassion, and I am forever grateful to be one of those humans — especially one who gets to capture that very essence.

So, to all of those who have just arrived in New York — be eager, be young and be stupid, because you belong here. You deserve to be here. This is a city built on a foundation of humanity, by dreamers, for dreamers. When the city feels too big and life feels too heavy, take a walk, bring a camera and let the city show you your way home.