There’s nothing like waking up to relentless sirens and artificial earthquakes from trains and subways, am I right?

That’s a thought I used to have when I first moved to Bradford in 2013. I’ve lived most of my life in big cities, including the biggest city of them all, New York City. They don’t call it the city that never sleeps for nothing.

At any hour, something is going on and it’s going on loudly. For someone raised in that kind of environment, the sounds of the city are hardly noticed like the humming of a car as you fall asleep in the passenger seat. The only time you notice it is when it’s not there. If it’s ever quiet in the city then you can bet that something is wrong and you should hightail it out of there.

Being accustomed to that sort of lifestyle, I carried that mentality with me because, as they say, you can take a boy out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the boy.

Boy was that true for the first year of living in Bradford. The silence was deafening; the dark and safe streets were more terrifying than the illuminated, homeless-invaded alleyways. There were too many trees and the encircling mountains made me feel more claustrophobic than the sun-blocking skyscrapers.

I thought I was going to go mad every night when I could literally only hear crickets. But the more friends I made from the local area, the more I explored and learned about the lifestyle. Instead of going out to the clubs at night, we went out to the woods and started a bonfire. Instead of drag racing an empty lot, we went out mudding. I learned how to fish, hike and hunt. I replaced city pools with lakes. Now, all of the city lights that I used to love only remind me that they are blocking out the billions of stars that beautifully decorate the skies.

And it’s even more than just the scenery and the activities. People here remember your name and face the first time they see you. They politely wave as I ride by on my bike, striking up a conversation anytime I stop.

When I went back to the city for a few weeks, that’s what I missed the most, the connection the small town of Bradford had made me feel. I was less than a number in the city, just a shoulder to bump on the sidewalk or a driver to honk at when he hasn’t immediately moved at the speed of a changing light. I could not sleep for the life of me with all the noise and commotion endlessly going on. Had the train always shook the buildings so violently? I almost screamed out “earthquake” before I realized what it was.

I felt foreign when I went back. And you know what? I’m more than okay with that now. Somehow, this place not only took the boy out of the city, but it took the city out of the boy and made me feel like I belong. I love it here. Well, everything except for the potholes. Boy, do I hate those potholes.

Peralta is a reporter for The Era. He can be reached at erasidneyp@gmail.com