Tuesday, October 18, 2016

leaving home (again)

the mountains that enclose the silicon valley are by far the most savory,
comforting sight for me in life.

the golden gate is grand in its structure and striking in color.
the bay bridge reminds me that the crevices of berkeley continue to decay in all of their glory.

but the mountains.
my breath is taken away any time i land in the silicon valley/bay area.

when i lived in sacramento and would drive in over the easy bay hills, i could see
downtown san jose in the distance, hugged by smog.
and all around, the hills and mountains -- whatever they are.

the mountains in oregon were so much different than what we have here,
and in los angeles they have a feel all their own.

when i flew into the silicon valley on thursday, i told myself:
remember this moment. remember this moment. look around and take it all in.

it's an airport for crying out loud,
and the mountains certainly aren't going anywhere any time soon.
yet i can't help but feel such a deep joy anytime i walk towards the exit at the airport,
rather than from it upon departure.


i'm sitting at my gate right now and i'm looking at the mountains -- stained a bit
green from the rain this weekend.
there are conflicting clouds lingering lowly,
and i want so badly to get out of my seat and leave this airport -- missed flight and all.

i've cried on and off all morning (back to the tears -- hooray!) --
partly for the feeling of homesickness that no age of mine seems to cure,
but mostly because of fear again. 

fear and discomfort. 

while trying to hold back tears a moment ago, i told my boyfriend:
i think i'm just desperately not wanting to face my life feeling so alone. i am so unbelievably uncomfortable and i am desperate to find any sort of familiarity and comfort. 


thursday was warm here, and upon returning from a trip to the pumpkin patch with my mom,
she and her friend decorated our front porch and planted flowers in the beds outside the front door.

the sky became increasingly darkened by a looming storm, and the air cooled into an autumn crisp.
my dad worked inside the house and my brother was home, too, which is good and rare.
i sat on the brick steps of the front of the house, watching the light traffic buzz by -- nothing like
the lines of cars in los angeles.

the wind repeatedly brought my attention back around, likening itself to how fleeting the moment i was in would be.

at dusk, my mom lit candles in the house. by then, it was warmed inside than out, and heavier clothing was permitted -- which is one of my favorite aspects of autumn.

my brother and i climbed into the car to go for a drive, right before putting cookies in the oven,
and as i looked to the hills that hug my hometown, as i snapped a mental image of the deep hues of the sky above, and the clouds that threw themselves around, i told my brother that that moment, that night was good and well.

that i might not get more of an autumn-y feeling this season,
that for all four of us to be home was the most beautiful feeling.

he said nothing,
but in that moment i felt the deepest sense of joy.

watching those mountains, i was grounded once more.
the impending homesickness i knew awaited me in five days time didn't have to be something
i worried about.

until today, when it showed up -- always unwelcome.

thirty more minutes of staring at those good hills, those good mountains
that my mom told me (when i was young) looked like sleeping dinosaurs.

when i'm unsure of when i'll return home once more, i look to the mountains and take a million photos in my mind, to remind me of home, 
to keep me sane,
to keep me grounded in what i can know mostly for certain. 


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