Brooklyn doesn’t just raise you—it remixes you. If New York is the soundtrack to ambition, then Brooklyn is that unpredictable bassline that makes the whole track slap. For me, the borough isn’t just where I grew up; it’s where I grew into myself. Brooklyn made me—both Malik Okoro the writer and Malik Okoro the clumsy romantic who once spilled Fanta on a girl he liked (more on that gem later). Let me take you on a journey through the place that shaped my voice, my humor, and my ridiculous yet heartfelt takes on love and relationships.

The Subway as a Crash Course in Humanity

They say love is a journey, not a destination. In Brooklyn, that journey often looks like the 2 train at rush hour—hot, crowded, unpredictable, and full of unfiltered personalities. It’s on the subway that I learned to observe people in their truest forms: the guy blasting Afrobeats from a Bluetooth speaker, the elderly woman handing out unsolicited relationship advice louder than necessary, the lovers sharing one pair of earbuds (a modern Shakespearean tragedy). These moments taught me empathy and the fine art of reading a room—or, in this case, a train car.

In dating, this people-watching instinct became my superpower. Spotting nonverbal cues on a first date? Thank you, Brooklyn subway stalemates. My ability to determine when someone isn’t vibing with the conversation—like how you know that one dude by the door is definitely about to shove past you at Atlantic Avenue—has saved me from countless awkward situations.

Takeaway: If you want to understand people, don’t just listen to their words—watch their actions. Sometimes the greatest lessons come from observing those not-so-romantic behaviors, like someone manspreading across three seats.

The Bodega Theory of Love

If you’ve ever been to a Brooklyn bodega, you know it’s chaos wrapped in fluorescent lighting and snack food options that would make a nutritionist cry. But it’s beautiful chaos. No matter how confusing or overwhelming it gets, there’s an unspoken system: you ask, they provide. That’s kind of what love is, too—a messy exchange of fulfilling each other’s needs, even if waiting for it feels like the guy in front of you is ordering a breakfast sandwich in Morse code.

One night when I was still in high school, I ran to my corner bodega to grab candy before walking a girl home. Classic romantic move, right? Except I overthought everything and got her a pack of Skittles, but not the original flavor (I chose Wild Berry like some bold genius). She hated them. To this day, she claims she’s the reason I got into writing because I clearly needed a way to channel my “weird creative energy.” Touché.

Takeaway: Relationships, like bodegas, are about finding the right balance between chaos and order. Learn to adapt and laugh at yourself when you mess up—and trust me, you will. Also, stick to classic Skittles. Nobody hates the classic Skittles.

Brownstones and Brick Walls: Learning Resilience

Brooklyn’s brownstones: solid, unshakeable, timeless. As a kid navigating playground politics or later attempting to decipher group texts with too many emojis, these stoic urban landmarks felt like a metaphor for how I wanted to see myself—grounded but enduring. Life and love will knock you down (shoutout to the girl in eighth grade who roasted my knockoff Jordans in front of everyone), but in Brooklyn, you learn to build yourself back up—and brick by brick, too.

When I think about resilience in relationships, I remember Adebayo, my first “real” heartbreak. He was also a writer, and our dates were the kind of whirlwind drama that only happens when two overthinking creatives collide. We liked each other, but our worlds were too different. I wanted substance, he wanted situationships. When it ended, I paced through Bed-Stuy for weeks replaying what went wrong. It took me years (and a few rom-com marathons) to realize it wasn’t about finding closure—it was about continuing forward.

Takeaway: Heartbreak is part of the process. Stand tall like a Brooklyn brownstone, brick by emotional brick. It may take time, but you’ll rebuild. Plus, surviving a breakup in New York means you can survive just about anything.

Gowanus Canal Love Lessons: Sometimes It’s Just Not Clean

Let me paint you a picture for a second: the Gowanus Canal is a place so toxic it once caught on fire. (Yes, water. On fire.) Yet, New Yorkers still managed to make it trendy, with restaurants and breweries popping up like lovebirds in a rom-com montage. Honestly, it reminds me of dating in Brooklyn—sometimes messy and confusing, but somehow, magic happens.

For example, there was the time I planned a second date at what I swore was a cool, edgy bar near the canal. It turned out to be a party where guests brought their own knitting projects. We stayed for an hour pretending to be intrigued by someone’s crocheted tote bag before bursting out laughing and leaving for cheap dumplings. The canal smelled awful, but the night was unexpectedly amazing.

Takeaway: Not every date will be perfect—or polished. Embrace the awkwardness, lean into the imperfections, and make it part of your story. You might just find a gem waiting in the chaos.

Brooklyn, the Ultimate Wingman

Brooklyn isn’t a backdrop; it’s an active participant in its residents’ lives. It’s the rooftop parties where you swear you’ll just stay for an hour (four hours later, you’re arguing over which pizza place to hit). It’s the Afrobeat nights in Crown Heights that feel like a time machine back to Lagos, where the music sounds like home and the strangers on the dance floor become family. It’s the standoff at the Prospect Park farmers market where you lock eyes with a stranger over heirloom tomatoes but never exchange numbers (rookie move).

Brooklyn is why I believe in love’s quiet moments: the glances across crowded rooms, the way laughter echoes off red brick walls, and the realization that we’re all just trying to find connection in the chaos.

Takeaway: Your environment matters. Whether it’s a city, a neighborhood, or even a favorite coffee spot, embrace the places that allow you to grow, explore, and fall in love—with others and yourself.

Closing Time

Brooklyn isn’t perfect—far from it. It’s loud, unapologetic, and occasionally smells like regret and hot garbage. But it’s where I learned that imperfections don’t detract from beauty; they create it. Just like in romance, the magic isn’t in finding perfection—it’s in finding someone or something you can grow alongside, flaws and all.

Wherever life takes me, Brooklyn will always be the place that made me. It’s my anchor, my teacher, my unpolished but undeniably charming co-star in the ongoing rom-com of my life. Whether you’re navigating heartbreak, laughter, or the uncertainty of a second date, remember this: you don’t find love in perfect places. You create it where you are. Even if “where you are” smells vaguely like a bagel factory on fire.

Now, go forth and embrace your own version of Brooklyn—the messy, magical, slightly ridiculous place you call home. You just might find love waiting around the corner. Or at least some really good dumplings.