New York I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down

doodle by meeee

It’s my first January in San Francisco and all the lemons from my Aunt’s tree lay idly on the concrete ground, peacefully rotten and sickly sour. 

I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives here, introducing and reintroducing myself because sometimes people don’t remember having met me before, but other times because a few glasses of wine are doing the talking. I’ve learned a lot about how much I don’t know in the last six months, shedding layers off my years of insecurity and regret and slowly, slowly building from the ground up. I’ve felt beautiful a handful of times and other times felt grotesque and out of place, always sure I’m right then always changing my mind. I’ve let my hair grow long again and go dancing on the weekends and find myself throwing up more than I ever have in my life. The first week of the year was just rain and rain and rain, and now it’s sunny in ways that I don’t always feel I deserve.

I’ve gotten really good at being bad at things, working really hard on an assignment and getting a B- on it, trying really hard to be cool and coy and then folding when there’s a slight breeze. I’ve gotten into making a big batch of soups on Sundays and then eating it out of the pot throughout the week. I’ve more or less figured out BART and the busses and walking to my destination, a simple pleasure that I had yearned so long for. 

Theres been a few times in my life where I’ve accomplished something I really wanted and it always had a sneaky way of making me feel worse. I’ve pushed myself creatively and socially and academically but feel like I could push harder personally and collectively. I’ve learned a bit about letting people like me, but I still have so many questions. 

Sometimes when I’m driving from Bayview to the Richmond my heart feels like it’s going to explode from the beauty of the city, quiet in its delivery but loud in its impact, from the colorful victorians to the neon-lit bar signs and all the corner stores in between. I’ve spent more than one day feeling sorry for myself and more than one day trying to do something about it. I’ve gotten really into this album by Issam Hajali, and another called TESTPATTERN but I’ve been struggling to find other albums that make me feel the same way. I’ve found a favorite record store in the Mission where I’m pretty sure the employees hate me but I always try to strike up a conversation with them just in case. I was a TA for my first college class and loved it so much, and felt a sometimes rare sense of pride at how hard I tried to be good at it. 

I’ve made the 10-hour drive from the city to San Diego and back by myself more than once and allowed myself to be with myself, truly, and experience the calm that can come from allowing my thoughts to just be. I’ve decorated my apartment in a way that I really love and read more books this month than I did all last year. 

I haven’t bought many clothes since moving here, because for the first time I’m starting to trust in my taste. Missing my friends from home is a full-time job and I’m employee of the month, but I wear their love like pins and ribbons in my hair and find it in all the new people I meet. I’ve come to enjoy long phone conversations sitting in my backyard, calling my mom on my walk from the train to class, thinking about my new baby nephew and the kind of person he will grow up to be. I find so much peace and joy drinking coffee with my Aunt on her stoop, waving at the neighbors and their dogs (even though if you know me, you know I’m not a dog person).

On my best days and my worst days, my cat George greets me with a meow on top of my record crates and sleeps peacefully at my side even after I wake up. I’ve crocheted a dress and made a cake from scratch and learned a bit about using oil pastels, I’ve cut out paper stars and strewn them around my apartment just because. 

I have not become whole or become new or found myself or anything futile like that, but I am trying to learn a thing or two from the lemons in the backyard. I’m letting the afternoon light hit my face and watching out for hummingbirds and driving slowly on the days that I can. I’m cold and I’m rotting and sometimes sour too, and I’m resting and aging and letting myself seep slowly into the cracks. I’ve found a nurturing comfort in this process, drinking more tea and brushing my hair and letting my cassettes play on repeat. 

San Francisco, I love you. January is always hard but the Spring keeps coming, and I'll be here waiting when it does.