(no subject)
i went back today. for the first time in a year.
what's the same:
the weighty anticipation of the fog burning off the coast
the impressive number of cruisers littering the streets, sidewalks, and backyards
that incessant summer vibration of adolescent eternity
emo kids with long hair and nose rings serving chocolate covered raisins at the co-op
tar on the beach
what's different:
Steven Biko's face is plastered and silkscreened around our old house
max doesn't work at the co-op, and allie and jc aren't just down the stairs
my favorite college professor and advisor for four years has been on medical leave for a year, and is incommunicado
my ccs mailbox is gone
our best playwriting teacher has left for UCSD
CLAS has a new building
i'm not in love, or between loves, or rollerblading down redheads in the street
tiff and i surprised friends today. i walked into leslie's office today at ccs, and she smiled nonchalantly and said, "oh, hi, julia," before stepping back a moment and exclaiming, "but wait! wow, it's you!" and i saw the beautiful caitlin, who is selling her artwork and driving cross country. we had dinner with brilliant vivian, who is starting a phD program at Stanford, and the Brazilian Francisco who made us coconut curry. we surprised Paul at Biko and I gave him bikini imprints on his t-shirt because we had just come from the beach. Pam the lovely was there, preparing for her trip to France.
the beach: the best love affair i've had.
elaine and i used to paddle out every friday and follow dolphins.
i remember evenings in early spring when i'd walk the entire length from campus point to sands, listening to emo mixes from chandler and treading ankle-deep in the water.
nostalgia takes one over like a wave, crashing memories and images and smells and tastes in all that whitewater foam, submerging us in places we sometimes wish we still were. there's a fragile balance between feeling sentimental and desiring the original sentiment. i could write a thousand words of psalms and poems and memoirs and moments from my four years at school, and in the end, what would remain? the smell of eucalyptus, the well-worn path out beyond the slough, the swirl of red wine and chocolate chips, a photo collage of best friends i've accumulated and boyfriends whose imprints never quite disappeared?
places stay with us, as do good compliments and fine meals.
thank goodness.
what's the same:
the weighty anticipation of the fog burning off the coast
the impressive number of cruisers littering the streets, sidewalks, and backyards
that incessant summer vibration of adolescent eternity
emo kids with long hair and nose rings serving chocolate covered raisins at the co-op
tar on the beach
what's different:
Steven Biko's face is plastered and silkscreened around our old house
max doesn't work at the co-op, and allie and jc aren't just down the stairs
my favorite college professor and advisor for four years has been on medical leave for a year, and is incommunicado
my ccs mailbox is gone
our best playwriting teacher has left for UCSD
CLAS has a new building
i'm not in love, or between loves, or rollerblading down redheads in the street
tiff and i surprised friends today. i walked into leslie's office today at ccs, and she smiled nonchalantly and said, "oh, hi, julia," before stepping back a moment and exclaiming, "but wait! wow, it's you!" and i saw the beautiful caitlin, who is selling her artwork and driving cross country. we had dinner with brilliant vivian, who is starting a phD program at Stanford, and the Brazilian Francisco who made us coconut curry. we surprised Paul at Biko and I gave him bikini imprints on his t-shirt because we had just come from the beach. Pam the lovely was there, preparing for her trip to France.
the beach: the best love affair i've had.
elaine and i used to paddle out every friday and follow dolphins.
i remember evenings in early spring when i'd walk the entire length from campus point to sands, listening to emo mixes from chandler and treading ankle-deep in the water.
nostalgia takes one over like a wave, crashing memories and images and smells and tastes in all that whitewater foam, submerging us in places we sometimes wish we still were. there's a fragile balance between feeling sentimental and desiring the original sentiment. i could write a thousand words of psalms and poems and memoirs and moments from my four years at school, and in the end, what would remain? the smell of eucalyptus, the well-worn path out beyond the slough, the swirl of red wine and chocolate chips, a photo collage of best friends i've accumulated and boyfriends whose imprints never quite disappeared?
places stay with us, as do good compliments and fine meals.
thank goodness.