Jesus will make me a disciple or maybe he'll let me be your cat.
Joan Didion makes an appearance as I go over what I've read and experienced recently.
It is currently 12:02 pm in January, and the weather is unexpectedly warm. Earlier today, I took a stroll with my dog around the neighborhood, and we relaxed on the dewy grass while I peeled a pomegranate. The vibrant hue of pomegranate juice has left a stain on my fingers, lending a charmingly youthful touch to the moment. Despite my fondness for winter and its chilly atmosphere, there's a part of me that longs for sunny, summer days when I can wear light, flowing dresses and spend time by the beach. “You say you’re a winter bitch but summer’s in your blood.” Nonetheless, I always find myself yearning for winter when it leaves, feeling like its presence was fleeting and not quite long enough.
Robert and Chiara's final day in San Francisco is set for the 31st. The prospect of their departure brings a sense of melancholy, though I find myself teetering toward a state of acceptance. The solace lies in the fact that, for at least the next six months, they will remain nearby. I realize that the source of my sadness is the absence of their apartment, which has long served as a second home for me. This sentiment might resonate with many people in their lives.
Throughout the time I've known Robert and Chiara, they've maintained a “the door stays unlocked” policy. Anyone in need of a place to stay, sleep, shower, or simply be is welcome, no questions asked, no hesitation. It's a principle ingrained in me from my upbringing and something I've always aspired to adopt. Living with roommates in the past, this open-door policy was never warmly received. Now that I reside alone, there's seldom a demand for others to stay at my place. Nevertheless, my response is always an unequivocal yes.
I easily make myself at home in others' spaces. Emilee's downtown LA apartment marked the genesis of my first genuine adult friendship. In Chiara's San Diego apartment, I discovered that friendships could harbor a romance in the most platonic way. Chiara's current residence in San Francisco witnessed my personal growth at 29, becoming the place where I felt most authentic upon moving here. It's where I was staying when I signed the lease for my current apartment. Even Sergio's house is imbued with cherished memories, primarily of weekends spent there instead of heading home, as I felt a sense of belonging for many years. I tend to form strong attachments to places and shed tears when I can no longer revisit them.
Their move has prompted me to confront the realization that my social life was centered around spending time with them. I never perceived a need for additional people in my life, as they fulfilled that role. This realization brings to mind a similar situation with Paola, where I felt burdened because she heavily depended on me for her social life. Am I guilty of engaging in the very behavior that I find contemptible?
Well, fuck.
Again and Again by Jonathan Evison: “If I’ve learned anything in eleven hundred years, I’ve learned this: It’s no easy task finding love, and more difficult still holding on to it, so hold on tight, as if your life depends upon it because it does.”
Plot: Eugene "Geno" Miles resides in a nursing home, facing his final days with a mix of boredom and curmudgeonly demeanor. His attempts to connect with his new nursing assistant, Angel, are met with skepticism. Geno insists that he has lived not just one life but many, reaching back to medieval Spain where, as a petty thief, he stumbled upon true love only to lose it. Over the next thousand years, he claims to have been in a relentless pursuit to recapture that love. The question lingers: Is Geno merely a lonely old man clinging to delusions and rehearsing fantasies, or is he a genuine anomaly—an individual who has lived for a thousand years, still searching for a lost love? As Angel unravels the truth about Geno, so too does the reader. In the culmination of his miraculous story, the profound truth about timeless and often elusive love emerges: it may be right in front of us all along.
Review: I find myself somewhat uncertain about this book. While the concept is intriguing, the execution is a bit confusing. If the intention was to prompt readers to question the reality of the story, it certainly succeeded in my case. The narrative had some compelling twists that maintained my interest, but towards the conclusion, it became somewhat repetitive and rushed. Unlike some readers, the ending didn't evoke a strong emotional response from me. I wouldn't say I disliked the book, but it didn't leave a lasting impression as a compelling read for me either.
Evil Eye by Etaf Rum: “The voice cautioned her to surrender, be quiet, endure. It told her that standing up for herself would only lead to disappointment when she lost the battle. That the things she wanted for herself were a fight she could never win. That it was safer to surrender and do what she was supposed to do.”
Plot: Brought up in a conservative and emotionally charged Palestinian family in Brooklyn, Yara anticipated a sense of freedom when she married a charming entrepreneur who whisked her away to the suburbs. Despite pursuing her dreams, earning an undergraduate degree in Art, and securing a good job at the local college, Yara also plays the role of a traditional wife. Balancing family life with professional ambitions, Yara believes her life is far more fulfilling than her mother's. However, despite these achievements, she grapples with a lingering sense of dissatisfaction.
When her aspiration to chaperone a student trip to Europe falls through and she responds to a colleague's racist provocation, Yara faces probation at work and is required to undergo mandatory counseling to retain her position. Her mother attributes the troubles to a family curse, and while Yara may not fully embrace old superstitions, she becomes increasingly uneasy about her mother's warnings and the prospect of repeating the same mistakes.
Deeply shaken by these challenges to her life, Yara witnesses her carefully constructed world unraveling. To salvage herself, she must confront the harsh reality that the difficulties of her upbringing, which she thought she had left behind, have genuine and detrimental consequences not only for her own future but also for that of her daughters.
Review: This book is brimming with eloquent and impactful prose, showcasing the author's remarkable skill with words. Nevertheless, the conflict propelling the plot is steeped in angst, with recurring sentiments presented in what feels like an endless loop. While acknowledging the significance of addressing the challenges of womanhood, being a minority, and overcoming childhood trauma, I wish these themes could have been emphasized without an overwhelming sense of perpetual distress. The characters are intricately crafted, and I found myself forming strong attachments to some while being repulsed by others. I just wish it was not as slow and repetitive as it was.
A Winter in New York by Josie Silver: “Life is just so damn complicated, isn't it, a series of random coincidences and chance meetings that add up to a lifetime.”
Plot: When Iris makes the decision to start afresh in New York, she quickly realizes that the city is much larger than she had anticipated—unlike the romanticized portrayals in the nostalgic movies she used to watch with her mom while savoring their special secret-recipe gelato. Determined not to let Iris retreat into isolation, her best friend Bobby takes her to a renowned autumn street fair in Little Italy. While exploring the food stalls, Iris is drawn to a small family-run gelateria. It triggers a sense of familiarity—could it be the same shop from an old photo of her mother's?
Intrigued, Iris returns the following day and encounters Gio, a charming man who informs her that the shop is on the brink of closure. His uncle, the sole guardian of their family's gelato recipe, is in a coma, leaving them unable to produce more. Upon tasting the last remaining batch, Iris realizes that their gelato is identical to her family's secret recipe. However, she grapples with how to disclose this knowledge, uncertain of why Gio's uncle entrusted the recipe to her mother in the first place.
Offering her culinary skills, Iris volunteers to help recreate the flavor, gradually developing feelings for Gio and his family. However, when Gio's uncle finally awakens, the secrets Iris has been concealing threaten to jeopardize the new life and budding love she has built throughout the winter.
Review: I’ve talked about this before, but I believe it's crucial to permit ourselves indulgence in sugary and cheesy books and movies—what some might call "Brain Candy." Josie Silver is one my favorite Brain Candy authors. I thoroughly enjoyed the eccentric characters but I found myself frustrated by the numerous secrets Iris withheld from Gio. This aspect felt predictable and formulaic: she’ll fall in love with Gio, keep the secret for longer, her past will haunt her, the truth will come out, and there will be a happy ending. But even still I enjoyed this book.
Breathless by Amy McCulloch: “Getting to the summit is a great achievement. But the mountain will always be there. Getting back down alive is the priority.”
Plot: Journalist Cecily Wong finds herself in a challenging situation, having ventured to Manaslu, the world's eighth-highest peak, to interview renowned mountaineer Charles McVeigh during the final stage of his record-breaking summit series. She has sacrificed a lot for this opportunity—her relationship, life savings, and the tranquility she had found in accepting past climbing failures. Despite the potential to revitalize her career, the expedition takes a dark turn when one climber dies, initially thought to be a freak accident, raising concerns about their safety. As a second climber meets a similar fate, it becomes evident that they are facing a perilous situation on the remote mountain. Trapped in one of the most isolated regions, Cecily must confront not only the elements but also a relentless killer systematically targeting the expedition members.
Review: I found this book quite enjoyable. Despite being completely unfamiliar with mountain climbing, I believe the author skillfully conveyed the different techniques and exercises without making it monotonous. While the overall plot seemed somewhat predictable, there was at least one unexpected twist that genuinely surprised me, evoking a gasp. Nevertheless, I value the storytelling, the attention to detail, and the likability of the protagonist.
ALSO:
Article from The New York Times on the mysterious painting in Joan Didion’s home.
Article from Curbed on how much it costs to live in New York.
Opinion Piece from The Washington Post on a mouse that lives in a vehicle.
Article from Fashion Revolution on how being chronically online leads to hyper-consumption.
Blog post from
Slaughter Beach, Dog is currently touring their new album Crying, Laughing, Waving, Smiling, at the Fillmore on January 14th. Once again, I left five minutes before the opening band, Sun June, took the stage because the venue is conveniently across the street from my house. Last time Slaughter Beach, Dog was in town, the show sold out, and I missed it, but fortunately, they returned.
Whenever I attend a concert, I often find myself standing next to less-than-considerate individuals: talking during the opening acts, chatting throughout the main performance, incessantly recording everything, capturing themselves singing, and singing loudly and off-key. I used think “of all the luck I’ve choosen to stand next tot eh bad batch…again.” However, I've come to realize that it's not necessarily my choice of where to stand but rather the general demeanor of the entire crowd that disappoints. Concertgoers nowadays seem to lack etiquette and respect—yes, I'm addressing you, younger generations.
Despite the overall crowd behavior, there were a few delightful moments. One memorable instance occurred during “Acolyte.” The audience sang along enthusiastically with the band, eliciting smiles from the performers. It's one of my favorite experiences at a concert—everyone singing in unison. The crowd even shouted the lyrics, “Annie, I want you to marry me!” and the singer threw his head back, grinning. It was a heartwarming moment amidst the chaos.
While introducing the song “Engine,” the singer said its about the parking lot of the safeway across from the venue; my Safeway. “It always goes that way this time
San Francisco in the nighttime / Pacing outside of the grocery store / Saying I can't do this.” That forced me to remember the fact that San Franciscoboasts a wealth of rich history, prompting me to appreciate my time here, if not for any other reason.
Of course, they ended their set by singing “104 Degrees,” one my favorite songs ever and one of their best. As soon as the set was over, I walked home and fell asleep at 11:00 pm. God, I how I love that.
On the 20th, Robert and Chiara visited after completing their brunch. True to Robert's style, he brought beer, and Chiara spent time with Maya. We all gathered, engaged in casual conversation about nothing significant, and inevitably delved into a discussion about books, which occupied most of our time. On the 23rd, Chiara picked me up from work, and we enjoyed dumplings before going to her house, where we repeated the same routine as on Saturday—sitting around and chatting. Both times, I remember thinking I’m going to miss this. There is something so special about friends showing up to each others homes just to sit near one another. It’s one of truest forms of love.
On the 26th, I enjoyed a delightful dinner with Robert, Chiara, and Chiara's Aunt, Stephanie. Before delving into the details of the experience, I must mention a customer who visited my store on the 24th—Ellie. Her voice exuded kindness, and she possessed a remarkable sense of style. While I typically refrain from looking up customers, I couldn't resist this time. I discovered her Pinterest and Instagram pages and immediately texted Chiara, expressing my aspiration to be like her. Until that point in my life, I can genuinely say I had never been so impressed by a strangers personality. Fortunately, luck was on my side as she returned to my store on the 26th at around 10:00 am, and our conversation extended much longer. She warmly welcomed me to the city, recommended a wine bar near my house, and, upon learning about my blog, insisted that I identify myself as a writer. Before she left, she told me “Don’t give up the city. It has its moments but I promise it’s a place to love.” Her infectious kindness and positivity left a lasting impression, but most importantly, I needed to hear that bit of advice. Though, sometimes I feel like I try to make signs out of everything just to calm my thinking.
At approximately 4:30 pm, Chiara and Robert came to pick me up from work for our dinner trip to Marin County. I had passed that area once on my way to Petaluma years ago, but the memory of the drive was faint. This time, I was more attentive. My eyes eagerly absorbed the surroundings, and the sight of houses by the water, homes nestled amid trees, and horses on the hills made me cry. I am often overwhelmed by the beauty of life. I am contasntly crying because of it. “You experience the world so deeply, something many people don’t do, and you treat it like a problem rather than a talent.”
Arriving at the restaurant ahead of schedule, we opted to stroll around and ended up visiting a petite store owned by the artist Jon Carlin. His narrow shop displayed prints on both sides, with bins brimming with additional pieces. I found myself drawn to everything he had crafted but ultimately chose settled for this large print and this smaller one. Upon buying his artwork, he handed me quarters, explaining that there was a sticker machine outside his shop. The entire experience felt meticulously curated and thoughtful, making it a pleasant and memorable encounter.
We returned to the restaurant, Left Bank, where Stephanie warmly welcomed us. It was my first encounter with her, a meeting Chiara had eagerly arranged and something I was excited about, given the glowing stories she had shared about Stephanie—always praising her intellect and character. I was immediately captivated by Stephanie's storytelling, the clever one-liners she effortlessly injected into any conversation, the compassion evident in her tone, and her overall kindness. Our discussions ranged from Chiara's childhood and past holiday celebrations to the significance of feedback on the art we create and literature.
As the conversation turned to me, Stephanie inquired about my life, and I shared details about my upcoming interview with the library. Chiara interjected, affirming, "She also writes." Despite my characterization of it as just a blog, Stephanie insisted, "You're still a writer," echoing the sentiment expressed by Ellie earlier that day, a reminder that Chiara consistently emphasizes. Stephanie, a former professor, responded to all of my emotions and feelings with empathy and affirmation, sharing snippets of her own experiences. “It's a challenging time to appreciate the city, but I have always had a deep love for it.”
In addition to the engaging conversation, we enjoyed exquisite cuisine. I can't recall the last time I indulged in a three-course meal, if ever. Opting for a vegetarian dish, I wasn't entirely sure what I was eating, but I would undoubtedly choose it again. The dessert section was particularly delightful. Naturally, Robert and I complemented our meal with coffee—a cherished ritual for both of us. Sitting around, sipping coffee, and conversing among people you hold dear is an experience that Robert and I both appreciate, something we frequently did when I stayed with them.
The night came to an end after three hours, and in the parking lot we all said our goodbyes to Stephanie but not before we exchanged blogs with one another. I’m unsure if she will read this but I am writing as if she’s not, just to remain loyal to authentictiy. . Once we were in the car, I expressed to Chiara how much I enjoyed the evening and praised Stephanie. I feel incredibly fortunate to know the individuals in Chiara's family. I am sincerely grateful.
I continue to walk to Golden Gate Park every Saturday and Sunday morning, shedding tears when the sun filters through the trees. The beauty of it never fails to captivate me. I envision having my own little home, nestled near the trees and grassy hills. In the future, my tears won't be born out of longing for the life I desire but rather from the overwhelming gratitude for having achieved it. I find myself taking longer to rise than I had anticipated. Despite the absence of a set timeline, my desire is to experience a sense of grounding and rootedness. Recently, the words of Mary Oliver echo in my mind: Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? One day, I will be able to provide an answer.
Until the end,
A.