los angeles, not for me, not now.

June second, Wednesday

Little Tokyo. I am eating dinner at Curry House. I seem to be the only one who came alone. I poured myself tea just now, just like I did several times in my dorm room while I was in College (except, I paid 2 dollars for the entire box of tea, not just a single tea bag). I think about how great it would be to be able to pour tea for more good company in Taiwan.

Sitting across to my right are a group of twenty-somethings. They’re hard to miss. They are the largest group here and are making quiet a ruckus. I bet they’re already drunk. They are probably co-workers, or good friends.

Surprisingly, accidentally, serendipitously, today was a good day. Los Angeles is a beautiful city. I ate lunch at home. I watched some more T-dramas.

The tea is not too hot, not too cold.

Aaron messaged me. He had the day off and asked if I wanted to hang out , I hadn’t seen him in a while, thought that it would be nice to accompany him; drove all the way (in traffic) to the West side and had shaved ice with him. Mediocre shaved ice, but exceptional company.

Then came a candid, scenic, trafficky drive to the East side, where I visited Christian to pick up my beloved camera. I had left it in her car the night before—filled with drunken partying.

While Angelino drivers braked, yielded, signaled, and accelerated like ants, mechanical, I pondered. Los Angeles is my home. I find a special sense of comfort here. There is something magnificent about the monolithic skyscrapers that is manifested as the symbol of LA, especially during the magic hour. The sky was clear. The air felt soft and cool against my skin. Pop music.

However, I cannot settle for a nice cubicle-office-reserved parking-elevator-morning espresso-air conditioned—type job. Not yet. Part of me feels like these skyscrapers, as blindingly lustrous as they are, were not built for me. Part of me, feels like for the time being, I am meant to be a vagabond of the world, a searcher, a student, a dancer in the dark.

On the way to the East side, I also imagined, that if my father were wiser, what kind of words he would tell me. It had something to do with traffic. He would say, “You cannot beat traffic, no matter how many times you swerve in and out of lanes. Someone will always be ahead of you and someone will always be behind you. Either way, you are on your way to your destination. We all are.”

Curry House. To the right of me is a couple (or siblings) talking about life’s mundane tasks. Errands they have to run. The couple is “grown up”- looking. I wonder if I will end up in restaurants when I’m “grown up” talking about mundane things.

Taiwan, I'm ready.