December 13, 2021
San Francisco.
I walked down Franklin Street on a wet pedestrian in San Francisco. It has been raining for the past couple of days, making the weather even colder.
I didn't know anything about this city before moving here three months ago. All I knew was this city was in California where the sun shone the whole year. And it's a totally different part of California. But it's alright, I don't really mind the cold weather as long as there's no crazy wind like in Sydney.
I sat down in Limoncello this morning. An Italian cafe that sells warm coffee, pasta, all kinds of cheese, and gelato on the corner of Franklin Street. The old guy with the black chef uniform was walking around the corner, polishing the espresso machine until it became sparkling clean. He reminded me of Antony Bourdain from Parts Unknown. With his silver hair and sharp smile, he talks on the phone with his thick Italian accent. Only Antony is not an Italian.
I looked outside the window while sipping my hot regular cappuccino eavesdropping the couple in front of me. "Time flies, it's December already," the woman behind the counter said to her boyfriend as I watched the last autumn leave falling in this barren cold city.
The autumn leaves in this giant chilly city I never knew existed last year. Those red leaves that I might never know if I would see them again next year.
Life is full of surprises or beautiful jokes as my friend Mona always said. You never know where it will bring you or which way it will choose to surprise or even disappoint you.
I vividly remember the same time, today, last year. When I buried myself in depression in my dad's house last year. Watching my dad recovering from his hip replacement surgery. Teaching him to take one step at a time every single day. His near surrender to intense pain seemed to push me backward with every step he took forward. I couldn't escape the emotions tied to this place, haunting me every day, every breath. It was not because I didn't love my dad, but because I loved him so much that I did not know how to share some for myself. I would rather die for him instead of watching him suffer. His struggles felt like loaded guns aimed at my deepest fears, ready to fire at any moment.
The sun's rays suddenly seep through the window. I didn't realize that the rain had stopped pouring half an hour ago, while I'd spent the last hour lost in thought.
People in San Francisco hate rainy days. Nobody wants to go outside that dampens business, as the guy cleaning the espresso machine told me. But some hope the rain washes away the dirt, from dog and sometimes human poop to shattered glass and heroin needles strewn on the streets. Perhaps, it might also cleanse away the anger, disappointments, empty promises, fears, and the good and the bad and everything in between.
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