You are a brilliant virus caught inside of me. Invisible origin. Glow worms in the amethyst caves.
My brain paints our disconnected limbs–tied in the way ivy struggles for sunlight.
Listen to me carefully:
I am the sound of close orbit, and you are my collision.
Hi everyone! Here I am! And it’s a real chunky post! Yay chunky posts! I owe you all an update, and THIS IS IT.
Woah, can you believe it’s already the end of January?! My sister turns the big 21 in four days. Woo! I’m sorry I can’t make it back home for that, Joan. But I swear I’ll treat you out to a sister trip out here in the Bay Area this year! My treat. 🙂
So, I’m alive and kicking. Rather, I’m sitting. At the coolest reception desk I’ve ever worked. I am currently temping for Kabam Inc, an incredible gaming/tech company based out here. They have offices all over the world. Everyone is friendly, supportive, and eager to meet me! Despite the fact that I’m only here for a week and a half, it seems that the employees are interested in my story and why I’m here.
I also want to proudly say that I received my very first paycheck since I’ve moved out to the Bay Area! I picked it up this morning! YES! I think when you are making lots of money, or if you have a lot of it, it kind of becomes strangely unimportant in the sense that you take it for granted; it’s there, your bills are paid, your fridge is full, you can wake up hung-over a couple days a week. And the money keeps this cycle going.
When you don’t have money, when you’re hungry, when you have to sneak onto buses without touching on or when the gasoline button lights up in your car and you don’t have enough cash, money can seem like the most important, necessary thing in the world.
But it isn’t.
Because I did not have enough money to immediately rent a place when I moved out here, I had to couchsurf with friends. I slept on floors and random beds and all sorts of couches. I lived out of my Gregory pack, and my clothes saw a different washing machine every week or so. I’ve spent the past month and a half scouring Craigslist for employment opportunities, writing and rewriting my resumes, cover letters, and frequently interviewing with job agencies and employers. I had no job, no place to call home, no privacy. Sounds shitty, right?
Nah. It was awesome. Why? Because of all the kick-ass stories I have! Seriously! I’ve met so many people just because I was couchsurfing with friends. I lived in a beautiful condo in the heart of the Sunset District of San Francisco. Then in the quiet, lovely suburbs of Berkeley, where I got my first taste of the East Bay. Then, in a queer house in Oakland, where I got to meet such strong and influential women. Right now I’m living in the Tenderloin district in San Francisco with my friend Dan from Rutgers. It’s been so chill.
But let’s be real. Some of it was really shitty. Unbelievably shitty.
Like that time I caught that cold that everyone else had. I remember waking up on Kurt’s floor, shivering, my nose leaking, me wrapped up in my fleece blanket curled up like a cocoon in a sleeping bag feeling like I wanted to die over and over and over. For the first time since I had left Washington, I felt home-sick and I all wanted was to be home with , my cat, and my parents and sister and eat endless bowls of nilaga in bed. This was three weeks ago.
Or what about that time I had to wait in the loveliest waiting room in order to pick up my ‘Calfresh’ card so I could feed myself for the week. Goood times. Note: Homeless people don’t bathe.
But I think we can agree, the most frustrating part about moving to a new place barebones is having to dress up for interviews, again and again, AND again, doing your best to impress recruiters by attempting to be the best ever candidate in the world. God. Spare me. PLEASE.
SO WHY DON’T WE REVIEW THE GOOD STUFF THEN!
AAANNNNDDD…
$400.00. Yup. Four hundo. My own room and all, in a laid-back and open-minded co-op. We have a monthly communal food fund of $100, and then just a little bit extra for utilities. The room itself is just a sublet, but it will give me some stability for three months to find an even better place. I’ll have my very own room. WOW did I take that for granted!
So why don’t we recall that I started down at the very bottom. When I left Walla Walla, I was discouraged, broken-hearted, weak and terrified. I hadn’t been employed since July. My car broke down in Portland, and I didn’t even think I would make it to San Francisco. But I did. I made it. Hell. Yeah.
So enough about my victories. Let me share with you some of the adventures I’ve been on since I got to the Bay Area! YAY!!!
Let’s see:
There was Santa Cruz and Wilder State Park. Watching a school of dolphins cruise through sunset waves, watching the ocean carve its way through the rust-colored cliffs, the sun, an egg yolk, dripping into the horizon. Oh yeah, all of that on mushrooms.
And then New Year’s Eve at The Warfield! The Flaming Lips, Phantogram and Foxygen. The entire crowd was one big family. I had never rung in the new year at a concert before– what a mind-blowing, psychedelic and truly magical experience.
The amazing view from the top of a high-riser apartment building near Civic Square after a Latka Party.
A poetry event geared towards racial tension in America held at a pop-up anarchist bookshop called Rise Above Graphics. Not one reader was the same race, and there were both male and female readers, each with a beautiful, strong-willed and powerful perspectives. I also met another Claire that night– she invited me to submit to her literary zine: Oatmeal Magazine. Yay words!
Seeing an old friend from my high school marching band, Ben Ruben-Shnirman and his band, REBOP! Ben KILLED it on the bass with his band REBOP! at The Mysterious Rack. Isn’t it fun catching up with old friends? You get to talk about how far you’ve come!
Then there was that fantastic evening at the Oakland Omni Commons. I met a whole bunch of amazing, innovative, friendly artists, musicians and inventors who were eager to connect with one another and collaborate on project ideas and plans for the new space. They held their first potluck dinner of the year, and I had brought homemade coconut cashew rice, with bay leaves and crushed almonds topped with lentils! It was an amazing feast, and everyone left happy and full.
Then there was that one magical day I had with a lovely German CouchSurfer (who I wish had been my neighbor). We made brunch together, drank delicious, well-made coffee from Blue Bottle Coffee (a clean, quaint modern-looking establishment where you can attend coffee cuppings on Sundays at 2PM! We soaked in the sun at Jack London Square all afternoon, got a crash course lesson on Guatemalan coffee, shared delicious craft beers and the best grilled cheese sandwich ever, and ended the night with cuddles.
Last night, I ended up at a swing dancing competition! I don’t know how to swing danceyet, but maybe I’ll take a class! My new friend Andres invited me to come see him compete. I was totally impressed.
And finally (right?!) the view from my “office.” I’m currently working the reception desk at Kabam Inc. with the nerdiest, smartest people in the gaming industry today. Look at it: beautiful, sunny San Francisco. I’m temping for this company for the next week. We get lunches catered from restaurants, beer on tap, all you can eat snacks and beverages, a pretzel machine AND EVEN COOL KEY CARDS that beep and let you in through doors! Awesome!
Folks, I’ve kept you long enough. I’m probably going to get drunk tonight because I got my first paycheck. Just kidding. I actually deposited that money into the bank account I opened today and can’t touch it until Monday! Woo!
Thank you for your support.
Thank you for your patience.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, for reading my thoughts.
Love you guys! I’ll be back. Don’t worry.
Sadness is familiar. It is a constant of the human experience. Happiness, however, is always new as it comes.
I still feel anger towards him.
Just little bursts of anger, like accidentally biting into peppercorn, or stepping on tiny shards of glass, again and again. I can’t help but think of all the wasted time idolizing him, dreaming of him, thinking of him. The words I wasted writing poetry for him. I have gotten to a point where I can’t even relate to the person I was even a month ago. Who was that girl? Burned and in-love. Delirious. Delusional– so incredibly vulnerable like a snail without its shell in the August sun.
Time moved slowly then, in Washington.
Here, time moves quickly. The stream of cars beyond these windows sound like fierce ocean waves. Unrelenting. The city takes quick breaths. The days become consumed by the hungry moon. Nine and a half days have passed since I have moved to San Francisco. I have made more friends than I can even recall off the top of my head, and have gone on some very unexpected adventures with people from all over the world.
Currently I’m having a beer, Karma, from the Avery Brewing Company, and texting a new friend, Chris. He’s a singer and a guitarist, and also a photographer. I’m going to be meeting with him in Oakland. I have a feeling we’ll get along. I feel anxious sometimes, but mostly I am excitable and positive. And so very hopeful. I feel and see the potential in the crevices of this city, in the smile of strangers or in the genuine actions of my new friends. Noticing the small things. This is what it means to start over.
I leave Justin’s apartment tomorrow. I’ll be moving to Kurt’s place to crash for a small amount of time. Kurt was a good friend of mine at Rutgers University. He lives out in Oakland. I’m looking forward to exploring yet another part of the Bay Area! More to come. Thanks for reading.
My new friend from Bombay, Disha (another Couchsurfer) told me to write a list of Wants and Needs. This is my current list. I’m slowly learning how to become comfortable blogging and writing openly about my life again. I don’t expect to please everyone, but for those who do have suggestions for me regarding what you want to read or see, please let me know. Mostly, I’m going to be sticking to everything related to San Francisco and my move/experience here. Anyway, here’s that list:
Needs
Wants
I suppose once I fill my needs, I can move onto my wants. I’m teaching myself moderation, responsibility.
I sit across from Anna at the Griddle. It is raining endlessly.
Anna is from Frankfurt. She is a singer, songwriter. Last night, in a quiet drunkenness, she sang us German song. Everybody listened. The room glowed a soft orange.
She looks at her phone, and sighs. I’m just taking the last bite of a breakfast burrito.
Alexei’s going to be there, too. Are you sure you didn’t want to come to the cinema?
Frowning, she looks out into the gray streets.
You don’t want to be a third wheel, right. I look at her.
It’s not that. I just really want people to like me. Especially when I think they’re so cool and talented… I always think, “No, they’ll never like you. Why would they ever be interested in you?” Even when I don’t even know what is truly in their heads, even though they might actually like me, I still think, no way, it’s impossible. I always get like this, when I fall in love.
Her face is cast downwards at her empty plate, the curls on her head falling forward. Everything is quiet for a moment. I think about how many times I’ve felt that way about the people I have fallen in love with. I think about the smouldering pain of longing to be closer to someone you admire.
The first thing I did in San Francisco was see the city from Justin’s roof deck. It was three in the morning. We stood at the very edge, the winds of change tossing my hair I shut my eyes, and filled my lungs. It smelled like the sea. You could see the lights of the bridges, shimmering in the far away darkness. You see those lights over there? Just beyond there is the Pacific.
I woke up to angry wind gusts and rain pummeling the windowpanes. Meteorologists had predicted that the Pineapple Express would bring hurricane-force winds to the coasts of Washington, Oregon and California. Despite the rain, we had visited Justin’s favorite local coffee spot, Snowbird Coffee, and made our way to Lower Haight to eat. We both went for the bison sausage with chipotle powder and sage, served with a fresh chimichurri sauce. The best part was, we got to eat our sausages at the bar next door, Toronado, where they serve fifty beers on tap. Fifty beers– from local and faraway breweries!
We parted ways since Justin had to go to work, so I made my way home. After a quick nap, I Google searched how to get to the Independent. I was supposed to meet some guy there, who had originally told me about the show via OKC, but decided against it. After all, I knew I could make more friends if I weren’t hanging out with a guy.
When I got to the venue, my hair was soaked through my jacket. I handed the bouncer my ID and my ticket. He scans it and sends me on my way. I make my way down a dark tunnel and then the room opens up like a hidden cavern. The ambiance was painted in turquoise and magenta, the colors fluctuating and fading, as if clouds were passing through them. I marveled at a sight I hadn’t seen in a while: a bustling room full of 20-somethings and 30-somethings, holding liquor in their plastic cups, commingling and laughing, grooving lightly, standing around bored. How I’ve missed this! People! Lights! LIVE MUSIC!
It’s always funny to see the stares I get being alone at a venue. They all look at me like, Why is she walking around by herself? Doesn’t she have friends? Why can’t I feel comfortable at shows by myself? I just smile at them all.
After roaming the venue for quite some time to find the perfect spot, I notice two people sneak in front of me and light up a joint. I poke the smaller girl and say, “Nice job dude!” She smiles at me and says thanks. She passes it to me. Then asks my name. Claire. Farah and Christian, two people in a crowd, now the first two people to become my friends in San Francisco. We spent the night dancing to Ryan Hemsworth. And afterwords, there was pizza.
I wake up in San Francisco. The chaotic rush of cars down 19th Avenue stir me each morning. The mellow sunlight peels my eyelids open. I stretch my legs across the brown cushions. Then, I remember where I am: sprawled on a friend’s couch in the Sunset District in the city of San Francisco. I am homeless, unemployed, and in debt. Yet, I somehow still feel an overwhelming sense of liberation in contrast to where I used to be: stifled and withering in a small town nestled in the dead center of Nowhere, Washington; 10.8 square miles of scrawny vineyards, the snow-covered vines whispering to each other, ‘sleep now.’ I burned a bridge in that town. I wonder if it still smoulders.
Today, I woke up in San Francisco. There are mountains just there, in the distance. And the Pacific Ocean, a tram’s ride away. My heart is intact and I am alive, breathing.
I am unbroken.
I am full of potential.
Every day, I wake up in San Francisco: the sunlight dancing about the living room, bright like eager smiles, or eyes in-love. I think about how far I’ve come. Where will I go from here? Who will I be? No, none of that. I am here, and I am me.
Learning how to stay, learning how to be.
Heart At Bay 
