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.

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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!

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.

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.

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.

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.