Aliens Of New York

Aliens of New York

Building acceptance and understanding among all species

Welcome to Aliens of New York, a celebration of the universal experiences, struggles, and joy of existence.

Latest Stories

Everywhere you go, there's people. Lots of them. But sometimes, even in a crowd, you can feel kinda... alone. That's how it's been for me here.
I remember sitting in a cafe once. It's a regular spot, nothing fancy. People were chatting, drinking coffee. But when I walked in, I got some stares. A few folks moved their chairs away a bit, and some younger guys tried to sneak a pic. It's small stuff, but it makes you feel out of place, you know?
One weekend, I decided to check out a local museum. Thought it might be a good place to blend in and learn something. As I was looking at the exhibits, a kid walked up, pointing at me and asking their mom if I was part of the exhibit.
But not everything's been like that. One time, I was walking in Central Park when it was snowing. Everything was quiet. I met this guy, and we just looked at each other. Didn't say a word. But it felt like he got it, like he knew what it felt like to be different. It was nice.
So yeah, New York's taught me something. Being alone in a place doesn't mean you're lonely. Sometimes you feel left out, but there are moments when someone, even a stranger, makes you feel like you belong. And those moments? They mean everything.

My greatest grief is knowing that I'll never be allowed to play in the NBA.
When I landed on Earth, I found myself instantly captivated by basketball and eagerly joined the local street games.
My towering height, elongated arms, and out-of-this-world agility provided me with a unique advantage, and it wasn't long before I became one of the top street ballers in the city.
People often marvel at my dexterity and precision on the court. However, despite my remarkable skills, the NBA remains closed off to me due to my alien heritage. In a world that values conformity above all else, it's disheartening to be excluded from the professional sphere of a game I'm so passionate about.
Yet, I've never let this deter me. I've crafted my own signature moves that have become legendary on the street courts.
There's the "Galactic Dunk," a forceful slam dunk executed by leaping from the free-throw line, and the "Cosmic Layup," a fluid, elegant maneuver in which I appear to float toward the basket before gently laying the ball in. These moves have solidified my reputation as one of the city's premier streetball players, and I take pride in continuing to play the game I adore, even if I'm barred from reaching its pinnacle.
I may not be able to play in the big leagues, but I'll continue to shine on the streets, proving that I am a genuine basketball prodigy, no matter where I come from.

I never imagined I would find my soulmate on a dating app.
I was hesitant at first, but I decided to give it a try. I setup an account and started browsing through potential matches. One profile caught my eye, brimming with intelligence and humor, and we hit it off immediately.
We started chatting every day, learning about each other's interests and sharing stories about our lives. As our connection grew stronger, we decided to meet in person. I was nervous, wondering if my appearance would be a turn-off.
But when we finally met, it was as if we had known each other for years. We had so much in common and our personalities just clicked. To top it off, she looked stunning!
Now, we're inseparable. We explore the city together, trying new foods and visiting museums. Every moment spent together feels like a beautiful adventure, and time seems to stand still when we're in each other's arms. Conversations can stretch on for hours, as we discover new layers of our thoughts, feelings, and desires.
And as we continue to grow together, I am grateful for the day I decided to try that dating app.

Oh, New Year's Eve in Times Square, what a dizzying, dazzling delight! The energy is electric, and the people – such a colorful array of Earthlings, all bedecked in sparkles and smiles.
On my planet, we float through time, but here, oh, it's a countdown! Tick-tock! Watching everyone get excited as the seconds tick down to the new year, it's absolutely enchanting. I mean, who knew numbers could be so exhilarating?
And then, whoosh! The ball drops, the crowd erupts, it's like a supernova of joy! Humans hugging, kissing – all hearts beating together – bam, bam, bam – as the new year blasts in. It's like a universal hug, you know?
But you know what's really out of this world? The acceptance here! Everyone's just themselves, and it's beautiful. I thought I'd stick out... But nope! I'm just another face in the crowd.
So here's to new beginnings, and to a year where we keep this spirit of joyous acceptance alive, not just tonight but every night!

You humans have such a charming tradition of celebrating New Year's Eve! You see, back on my planet, time is a wibbly-wobbly concept. We don't really have 'years' or 'days' in the human sense. So, the concept of celebrating the end of one year and the start of another was as alien to me as, well, I am to you!
But I must say, I've grown quite fond of it! As the Earth completes another whirl around the Sun I’m ready to bid adieu to this year and welcome the next.
This past Earth year has been amazing for me. I've had my share of misadventures - like the time I mistook a hot dog for a communication device (long story) - but I've also found warmth and kindness in the most unexpected places.
And on the topic of human food, I've developed a serious taste for New York pizza, though I'm still baffled by the concept of pineapple as a topping.
As the countdown begins, I find myself thinking about what new adventures the new year holds. For me, for you, for this wonderful city. I do know this: life is an incredible journey, full of twists, turns, and the occasional intergalactic mishap.
So, as we step into the new year, let's do it with hope in our hearts and dreams in our eyes. Let's make mistakes, laugh, cry, and most importantly, let's do it together.
Happy New Year, New York! Here's to another year of adventures, pizza, and unexpected life lessons. And who knows? Maybe this will be the year I finally figure out how to use the subway system without ending up in Coney Island (though, admittedly, the detours have been quite fun).

Five Earth years ago, I arrived here right before Christmas. It was a magical time – the enormous, glittering tree at Rockefeller Center, the sound of carols echoing through the streets, and the warm, inviting smells from the corner bakeries. It was all new, all fascinating.
My family found a sense of belonging here. We would wander the city, marveling at the festive lights and decorations. We found joy in the simple things – sipping hot cocoa, watching children play in the snow, and learning the strange but delightful customs of this holiday. Those were moments of pure happiness.
But last year, the Christmas lights dimmed for us. My father, the bravest and kindest soul I've known, left us. It was sudden, a swift departure that left us with a void too vast to fill. He loved Christmas in New York. He would often say that it somehow reminded him of our distant home, a place we could no longer return to.
This year I find myself wandering these streets with a heavy heart. I pass by the places we visited together, and each corner brings a memory. My friends tell me it's normal to feel this way, that grief is a journey with no map.
So, this Christmas, I'm trying. Trying to find joy in the little things again. I'm honoring my father's memory by embracing the festive spirit he so loved. As I look up at the sky, I feel a connection – to my father, to this city, to the universe. And in that moment, I know we're not alone in our grief, nor in our joy.

Every Christmas here in the Big Apple, I've got this ritual where I help out people who are less fortunate. It's something else, really. There's this joy in giving, handing out hot meals and gifts to those who don't have much.
There's this guy, always first in line, with a beard like Santa but none of the jolliness. When I hand him a bowl, our hands brush for a second, and his eyes – man, they tell a whole story. Gratitude, struggle, a life that's been anything but kind.
Last year, there was this old lady, wrapped in a coat that's seen better days. As I gave her a gift – just a small thing, a pair of gloves – her smile cracked through years of hardship. It's like I've given her more than gloves; I've given her a moment of being seen, of mattering.
And walking back home, looking at those big ol' buildings, I realized this whole volunteering gig is kind of a gift to myself. It's about feeling a part of something, even if it's just for a little while. It's nice, you know, to feel that connection, even if we're all from different worlds.
Being out there with them, it's my lifeline, really. It bridges this gap I feel. If I wasn't doing this, man, I'd be swallowed up by loneliness. When we share those brief moments, when our eyes meet as I pass them a meal, there's this unspoken understanding. So, yeah, volunteering, it's my way of not feeling so alone.

As the Earth spins into what humans affectionately call the "holiday season," I find myself wandering the streets of New York. Earth’s holidays are a curious phenomenon, full of lights, music, and an outpouring of emotions.
Back on my home planet, we didn't have holidays – not in the way humans do. Our days were measured in cycles of work and rest, in a continuous loop. Seeing Earthlings pause their lives to celebrate, to come together, triggers an odd sensation in my three-chambered heart. It’s a feeling I've come to understand as 'nostalgia' – a peculiarly human term.
Humans have an innate need for connection, for belonging. It's something I've struggled to grasp fully, but during this season, the yearning is palpable. Streets buzzing with hurried shoppers, arms laden with gifts, speak of a tradition of giving, of showing love through material tokens. Yet, there's more than just the physical exchange – there's an exchange of emotions, of hopes, of forgiveness.
I think about my own journey here, to Earth, how I’ve been embraced and feared in equal measure. How I’ve sought to understand humanity and, in the process, have unraveled layers of my own identity. The holiday season mirrors my own story. It's a reminder of resilience, of the ability to find joy and light in the bleakest of times. And for someone like me, far from home and lost among the stars, it's a lesson in the human spirit's indomitable nature.
So, here I am, an alien in New York during the holiday season, learning about humanity and, inadvertently, about myself.

Back on my home planet, things went really bad. Our rivers dried up, and our beautiful skies turned gray. Vibrant landscapes have turned into barren wastelands, the air is toxic and resources scarce. It was like watching everything we loved just disappear.
Now, I'm living in New York on Earth, and it's like seeing the same scary movie all over again. The parallels are uncanny, and frankly, they terrify me. I see the same disregard for nature, the same blind pursuit of progress at the cost of the planet.
Earthlings, much like my people did, seem to be sleepwalking towards an abyss of their own making. The rising seas, the raging wildfires, the storms of increasing ferocity - it's like a haunting echo of my past. I've seen this story play out before, and I know how it ends.
I see young people trying to make things better, fighting for a healthier planet. That’s cool, but I still feel down about it. If only my people had tried to fix things earlier, maybe I wouldn't be here alone, wandering around a strange planet, missing home.
I go around Manhattan, watching everyone enjoying life, and I just want to tell them about my planet, how we lost everything. I'm just an alien here, but my story might help you.

Listen up, Earthlings, because I'm about to share some mind-bending information that those in power don't want you to know.
Let’s start with me – I'm not your average Joe. Nope, I’m from way, way out there in the stars. And guess what? I've seen things, things that would make your heads spin.
Now, about the government and their experiments on extraterrestrial life.Yep, you heard that right. They’ve been doing secret tests on aliens like me. I mean, I've managed to dodge their nets, but some of my extraterrestrial pals weren’t so lucky. They’re keeping it all super secret, but I know what’s up.
And the moon landing? Oh boy, that’s a good one. Total fake! They made the whole thing up, filmed it like a movie to show off and distract everyone. They thought they could fool us with some fancy footprints and a flag? Nah, I’ve seen better special effects in grade school plays.
But hold on, there’s even more. Those massive pyramids in Egypt? They weren’t built by humans. No way! They were made by aliens. The design, the precision – it’s all too much for what people back then could do. It’s like a big, giant billboard saying, “Hey, aliens stopped by!”
Now, you might be thinking, “Why is this alien dude telling us all this?” Well, I am a seeker of truth. So come talk to me at Penn Station and I promise you won't be disappointed!

Born and raised in New York, I've always considered myself a regular American kid.
I feel deeply connected to the pop culture icons I grew up with, from Billie Eilish to the Knicks. I've spent countless hours listening to Kendrick Lamar's music and watching highlights of Patrick Ewing's awe-inspiring plays. They've been my heroes, role models, and sources of inspiration.
However, as I've grown older, I've come to realize that not everyone sees me the same way. Despite being born and raised here, my skin color has made me appear as an outsider to some.
Experiencing stares and discrimination has been challenging, and reconciling these experiences with my sense of identity has been difficult. I've always believed I belonged here, but at times, I've been uncertain.
Navigating the world as an alien, particularly as a child, has been tough. I've faced bullying and name-calling because of my appearance. But I've learned to take pride in who I am and to stand up for myself. Embracing my alien heritage, I've transformed it into a source of strength.
Being an alien doesn't mean I don't belong here. I have every right to call myself an American and to participate in the culture I love. My differences don't diminish my worth.
My hope is that my story will inspire others to embrace their unique qualities and find acceptance in a world that can often be cruel and unkind.

I arrived in New York as a young child, with no recollection of my birthplace.
Earth has always been my home, and I've created a rich life here, complete with a loving family and a fulfilling career.
Yet, I've increasingly felt a pull towards my roots, contemplating a journey to my home planet to uncover my past and understand my heritage. I'm well aware that such a journey would be arduous. The immense distance to my planet would render it a one-way trip, forcing me to abandon everything and everyone I cherish.
The thought of leaving my family, friends, home, job, and the life I've built is daunting, and I've wrestled with the decision. I can't help but think about everything I'd miss if I were to embark on this journey.
Simultaneously, an undeniable yearning for something more persists, and I've discussed my feelings with my loved ones, who understand and support my decision.
To prepare, I've been saving money and researching the logistics of undertaking this monumental voyage. It won't be easy, but I believe it's worth the effort. I hope that by returning to my planet, I can learn about my past and attain a sense of belonging.
Furthermore, I trust that by exploring my origins, I'll develop a more profound understanding and appreciation for the life I've established on Earth.
I'm not sure what the future holds, but I'm willing to take the risk and find out who I truly am.

I committed a crime, a foolish and desperate act that I now regret deeply.
I came to New York with the hope of starting a new life, of leaving behind the mistakes and troubles of my past. Back where I come from, which is way farther than any place you'd know, I'd messed up big time.
But here's the thing about messing up – it's like a shadow. You can move to a new place, meet new people, but that shadow, it sticks with you. I tried real hard to fit in, to be a part of the life here. And for a while, it worked.
Then, one day, I did something stupid. I thought that I could get away with it, that no one would notice or care. But that was just me lying to myself. People here noticed, and it turns out, it was a big deal.
Sitting here now, thinking about it, I realize how wrong I was. I wasn't just breaking some rule; I was betraying the trust of this city, of the friends I made. I was disrespecting the very chance I was given to start anew. It's funny, isn't it? You run away from your past, only to end up facing it again.
I'm being deported, sent back to face the music on my home planet. And they don't go easy on you there. I'm scared, not gonna lie. I don't know if they'll ever let me come back here, or if I'll be marked as a troublemaker for life.
Leaving Earth is not easy, for it has become my home and the place where I have made connections and friendships that I will never forget. But, you know, in a weird way, this whole mess has been like a wake-up call.
I'm learning that taking responsibility is part of growing up, part of being a decent being. I've made connections here, friendships that mean the world to me. This city, with its crazy energy and diverse crowd, it's become a part of me.
As I prepare to leave, I can't help but hope that this isn't the end. Maybe, after I've paid for what I did, I can come back. Maybe I'll get a chance to show that I've changed, that I've learned from my mistakes.
For now, though, I've got to face what's coming. It's only right. I made a choice, and now I've got to deal with what comes after. And maybe, just maybe, New York will be there for me again, when I'm ready to return.

Since moving to New York a year ago, I've grappled with self-consciousness regarding my body. I come from a planet where gravity is much weaker than here. My size is considered normal and isn't subject to the same stigma I face now. But on Earth, I stand out and can't help but feel disheartened by my weight. I thought if I could just fit into what Earth considers 'normal', maybe things would get better. So, I tried to adapt, you know? Tried to lose weight, eat like Earth folks do, but your standards of beauty, so different from what I knew, seemed like a mountain I couldn’t climb.
The nagging feeling of not belonging and not being good enough persists. Living here has been a more arduous journey than I anticipated. Gradually, I'm learning to accept my body and cultivate self-love for who I am. There's beauty in being different, in being me. This realization didn't happen overnight. It was a slow process, filled with a lot of ups and downs.
I won't lie, there were days when I felt really low, days when I'd look in the mirror and just not like what I saw. Those days were tough. But then, there were also days when I'd catch myself smiling, feeling genuinely okay with who I am. Those days started to add up, slowly but surely. To maintain a lighthearted perspective, I've developed a sense of humor about my situation. Joking about being the heavyweight champion of the galaxy has helped me not take myself too seriously and embrace my unique journey on this planet.
And humor, man, it's been my life-saver. Making jokes about myself, like calling myself the heavyweight champion of the galaxy, has been a way for me to take the edge off. It's like telling the world and myself that it's okay to be different. Laughing at myself, in a good way, has been therapeutic. It reminds me not to take everything so seriously.

Upon my arrival, I was exhilarated to immerse myself in this city and its creative community.
In my home planet art and creativity were foreign concepts, stifled by our swampy surroundings and primitive technology. The transition to New York, where artistic expression was celebrated, was a revelation.
Working in a design studio has been a rewarding experience. My projects have included branding, packaging, and web design, which has allowed me to grow and evolve as a designer.
In the early days, everything seemed perfect. The city's energy was contagious. I attended gallery openings, marveled at the stunning street art, and even had the chance to collaborate with local artists on a mural project.
However, the rapid advancements in artificial intelligence within the industry have recently left me feeling challenged and vulnerable. Observing AI create designs with greater speed and precision than I ever could has shaken my confidence and made me question my own value as a designer. The relentless pace of AI's progress can be overwhelming, and I fear being left behind.
Through introspection and self-reflection, I've come to understand that my unique perspective, background, and experiences are invaluable. While my designs might not be generated as swiftly as those by AI, they are infused with a touch of creativity and originality that cannot be replicated by any algorithm.
In embracing my roots from my humble swamp planet, I've learned to appreciate my distinct contribution to the design world. My unique essence sets me apart and enables me to leave a mark on the creative landscape.

When I arrived in New York, I felt like I was tossed into the deep end of a pool without so much as a towel.
For a while, everything seemed unfamiliar and overwhelming, and I was utterly alone. My heart ached for my home planet and my people.
Gradually, I adapted to my new surroundings and began building a life here. I secured a job and made a few acquaintances, but something still felt amiss.
Then, I encountered a friend who would transform my life forever. Bola crossed paths with me a few times at the park. Initially, I hesitated to engage him, unsure if he would accept me as I am. But once we began to talk, I sensed his uniqueness. He didn't view me as an odd being from another planet; he saw me as a fellow traveler in life.
Bola confided in me about his past, explaining how he left Nigeria in pursuit of a brighter future and had to adapt to an entirely new culture and society. We quickly developed a powerful connection.
Together, we filled our free time with exploration, savoring new cuisines, and enjoying each other's company. Despite our disparate origins, we shared a great deal in common. He introduced me to his culture, while I reciprocated by sharing mine. He was the first person to truly comprehend the experience of being an alien on Earth.
Bola's unwavering support and understanding have been invaluable. He accepts me wholeheartedly, and I treasure that. As my best friend and guide on this planet, he makes everything worthwhile and I feel profoundly grateful for his presence in my life.

I descend from a lineage of formidable mothers.
My own mom made enormous sacrifices to ensure that I could venture to Earth and broaden my horizons. She was adamant that I explore the galaxy and expand my worldview, even if that meant parting with our home planet and traditional way of life. I'll forever be grateful to her.
Now that I'm a mother myself, I fully comprehend the sacrifices that come with the territory. I have three adorable little ones, each fathered by a different being from a different planet. All of them wished the best for their children and for me, but each had their unique reasons for not being present.
My babies are blossoming, and they're turning out more enchanting than I ever dreamed. They possess a singular blend of traits from their distinct fathers, and it's truly astounding to witness their individual personalities taking shape. They have large, expressive eyes and tender, silky skin. Their curiosity and playfulness are infectious, and the sound of their laughter and giggles warms my heart.
Cradling my babies in this jar, I am constantly reminded that family is what we create, and I'm resolute in providing them the finest life possible.
And let me tell you, coordinating intergalactic visitation rights is like trying to corral a flock of starlings through a wormhole.