Dear San Francisco,
You heal all. Your colorful nooks and crannies, full of contradictions, each space with a different identity, and yet this is what holds you together and makes you -- you. San Francisco, more than any other city, you remind me of myself. Gray one day, sunny the next. Gritty and shabby, gentle and kind, cut-throat and chaotic, then turn a corner and suddenly you're made of silver, glistening like the bay. When I come home over the bridge I see your hills flicker like a film reel through the cables and wires as they fly by. Your lively little buildings sprinkled haphazardly across the earth remind me of every country I have visited, but there is something special about you. You are home. Finally, a god damn home. The black sheep of the nation, you've never fit in, and if we're lucky you never will. No matter how many times you crumble and shake, you rise up again, bigger and badder than before. You're as neurotic as me, and bull-headed as me. Ain't no one gonna tell you what to do. You're where the old meets the new. I like that about you, San Francisco. My grandfather loved you. My great grandfather too. As strangers our ancestors arrived at your shores, and you gave them hope, refreshed their souls with the sounds of seagulls and foghorns, guiding them home with lighthouses and love. Sometimes it is confusing to wear so many freckles, one for each nation my ancestors left behind. But if I should ever forget who I am, I will only require one look at my city, and she will smile back through the fog, and I will remember.
1:09 p.m. - 2006-05-05