Dear Irvine,
I hope the following is an acceptable apology for trying to forget you and that you may continue to be the home I depend on time and time again.
The stagnant air frosts my ill-equipped, bare California legs, and the chillness permeates the open pores in my body. With one long inhale, I release vestiges of the home I have known, embracing the water that now falls ceaselessly from the sky above. Armed with my light cotton jacket that at one time was all I had needed, my body shivers as I enter a mass of hooded heads hurriedly moving without hesitation. I pass the 49 and 70 buses that will soon be responsible for satisfying deep city exploration, full of diverse peoples and sights. Heavily panting up a few flights of stairs, I now stand on the bridge by my dorm and disrupt the current of students. I peer out at a skyline in the distance, submerged in fog, that resembles the watercolor painting hanging in my room. The buildings huddle together like artistic monuments, reflecting whatever form of sunlight occasionally gleams from cluttered clouds. I shamefully recognize that a majority of my expectations for this state have come from my mom's favorite Tom Hanks romantic comedy, readily bracing something of the opposite. I feel the most peace I have felt since leaving, but still encounter a heap of wariness for a place completely foreign to me. Seattle.
It has already been months since moving from my home in Irvine, and every now and then I encounter a sickness unlike the colds and flus periodically striking my body. I'm homesick and have begun to miss the very things I was so ready to leave behind.
Seeing the illustrious Mount Rainier some mornings when I decidedly attend my 8:30 lecture, I think back to the much smaller green hill that would crowd my rearview mirror when leaving my driveway. Although an aging product of global warming, increasingly browner every year, the hill was a definitive feature of my late night adventures or early morning drives to school. It was the first thing I noticed when moving in and has been a guardian to the neighborhoods congregated at its base.
The endless rains in Seattle have made me recall the receding ocean tides, swaying palm trees, and unrelenting sun rays. These emblems were once strikingly the subject of bitter complaints about the heat, the sticky sand, and the crowded beaches. When I went home over winter break, however, the first thing I did was drive down PCH, wind pouring in from my rolled down windows, and walk down to Crescent Bay Beach. Carelessly tossing aside my vans, I jumped into the salty ocean water. The sunset that day was one of the most beautiful sunsets I had ever seen and made me grateful that a gaseous ball of yellow claims the sky every now and then.
The aspects of home I crave the most are those little interactions and untold fantasies of life. The old playground in my neighborhood, with the grass that gave me the infamous seasonal allergies, was my place of discovery. A book in one hand, perhaps a Jhumpa Lahiri favorite, and earbuds in the other, I'd sit for hours until the light gave out and it was time for dinner. I miss those nights with my mom spent on the couch, arguing over which Harry Potter movie we'd watch, in knowledge that ten minutes after starting one we would both be knocked out, sleeping. I dream of the day I'll be driving past my old high school again, recalling the stadium lights from Friday football games or singing out to music in my friend's car.
Home has become a myriad of memories that collectively has formed my identity the last years. From your grocery stores with the names and aisles I know in depth, to your numerous boba shops (not bubble tea) with the greatest milk tea, from your abundant parks always full of life to your promise of sunshine days with glistening roads, I can say without a doubt that I miss you, Irvine, and hope to be amidst all your beauty soon.
With love,
Your biggest supporter and dependent,
Suhani
