When I was in high school I was an angsty and rebellious teen. Angsty in the way of I hated everyone I went to school with, rebellious because I tried everything I could to look differently than them and to act differently than them. The biggest insult would be to put me in a category with those people. Really dumb, right? Well. It was South Orange County, it was full of entitled, over privileged kids, and I am a minority, in a very non-minority area. So in reality, it is dumb, but truthfully I'd do everything the same way as I did back then. But I was dumb...
Anyway, I had this pseudo artistic intellectual vibe happening because I listened to too much Bob Dylan, Bright Eyes, and Joan Baez. I wanted to just, like, paint, smoke weed, and live in San Francisco. I was the stereotype. I just thought everything in SoCal was "lame" and superficial. I didn't see clearly my environment was a very strong and beautiful reflection of my ancestry and culture. I didn't get it.
Fast forward to now. I am getting it. Granted I had to move to Portland, then the Bay area to realize that there is no place like god damn home. But, dumb kids need to do dumb things in order to realize they are dumb. Alas, me. When I first moved back down here from the Bay I took in all the details, namely my mom's garden. She showcases the natural plant inhabitants of SoCal and I might've missed that the most. While being back Ali and I have been trying to do two hikes a week, all local. In these we've seen the most beautiful sights, the stuff that makes me realize that the desert is home. It is dry, flaky skin mixed with dragon's breath. But, it's home. After all this time, I am content because I've stopped seeing myself above a place that has nourished my soul and has kept my flaking skin turn into different forms of newness. I'm learning to salute my roots.
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