I Left My Heart in San Francisco

 

 I fell in love with San Francisco last night. My feelings have undoubtedly changed, as drastically as a relationship changes when one says “I love you.” Suddenly the view from the campus, the city the ocean and all, is not just a pretty view—it is my view. I feel myself interwoven—I have walked enough steps along the beach, stood on enough busy street corners, stared at the city scape at night enough to earn a place. From my dorm room window I can see planes flying away, and instead of envy I feel pity. What a tragedy to leave such a place.

  Last night a group of friends and I ventured to Ghiradelli Square for late night chocolate samples (Secret: if you’re there around closing time, about midnight, they’ll give you any left over sundaes or cones). The chocolate shop itself is the best smelling place in San Francisco, with large basins of churning chocolate right out of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. The Square is picturesque romantic, complete with late night strolling, lit up fountains for wishing, old fashioned diners and a saxophonist somewhere around the corner. We devoured our chocolate products as we walked along the water, headed towards Fisherman’s Wharf as bright as a carnival off in the distance.

Once there I tried my first animal fry from In ‘n Out Burger (…interesting). I watched a street dancer reincarnation of Michael Jackson surrounded by a gathering crowd across the street. A man in a wheelchair put on a light display, throwing flashing boomerang toys into the black sky. I was handed a puppy, of all things, and allowed to swoon as he yawned and grew drowsy in my arms. We stopped to watch graffiti artists create $10 masterpieces, small fantastical worlds with the stars and planets spinning around the city. I am determined to go back, if only to see the world I now live in recreated before my eyes.

We quickly located the epicenter of Fisherman’s Wharf, finding a carousel still spinning, energy still brewing. We pieced together various scenes from the movie Big—we found both a fortune telling machine and the San Francisco equivalent of the piano in the toy store—a piano staircase that makes the accompanying sounds of the keys. But it was not until we walked along the pier that I officially fell in love.

The moon rose slowly over the sailboats creaking in the water. At times the moon was a bobbing party lantern, resting on a string of sailboat Christmas lights. We walked towards the Bay Bridge, over which the moon had launched itself, finding the closest pier. Can one ever help singing “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore…” at a sight like that? In front of me was la luna over a sparkling bridge reaching into the night. Behind me was the city’s different kind of sparkle, the sparkle I could rejoin with a couple moments’ steps.

 The city became all at once the street performer and the puppy and the chocolate bar and the bridge and the moon and the faces of those around me. Standing perched above the black churning waters, so much life and light fought the dark fearlessly. Such sights and such nights inspire to no end. I cannot get enough of “I left my heart in San Francisco,” and I’ve taken up the romantic music of Frank Sinatra. This place makes me want to sing and dance and drink up life and love.

Dear Ocean, We Meet at Last

 An ocean’s embrace is much different than that of mountains. I cannot escape the feeling I’ve been missing something all this time. Yes, a mountain is a guardian and a goal—it is endurance and the quintessence of beauty one finds at the greatest of heights. But the ocean’s particular breed of beauty comes with depth. The process of lowering oneself into the water, pressing one’s feet into the sand, standing motionless and knowing that the sea is moving and changing everything. An ocean all at once grabs for those who walk in its midst while appearing still, like an endless road spotted with glittering footsteps stretching into the horizon.

 Upon my first sight of the ocean, it was impossible not to overreact. For the landlocked people of the world the ocean is idealized, idolized, like a renowned celebrity that asks for nothing of fame yet receives it nonetheless. I wanted the ocean waters to autograph my legs, and I ran in regardless of the chill. I splashed and ran along the shore through the bubbly serf. I maneuvered around hundreds of people sprawled across the beach like an impressionist masterpiece. Each glowed like a candle in the late afternoon light.

There is something about a beach in relation to the expanse of the ocean that speaks to life. Life is displayed there in stages—I spotted mothers lathering sunscreen onto confused baby faces, children determined to perfect sand castles, teenage girls gossiping on brightly colored towels, college students drinking, married couples strolling, older couples watching with gentle smiles of nostalgia as subtle and strong as the waves. Each lives out a part of his/her life here, each in face of whatever lies in those vast expanses—in face of the truly unknown.

 Why do people get comfort from the ocean? I have never felt a more peaceful excitement than when I sat watching my first sunset, seeing the orange sun sink into the bowels of the sea like a swallowed tangerine. The wind has never seemed so purposeful, as when my dress billowed behind me and I smelled the gentle breath of misty air. Some jokingly say it gives them comfort because they could escape in the case of a zombie apocalypse. But maybe the ocean is just an escape from everything. A return to a humanity as simple and significant as footsteps in the sand. Away from the whirlwind of an apocalypse of thoughts, to the comfort of the ocean’s unknown one can wade in for a moment.