My San Franciscan Heart

Most people who know me probably know that I spent a good number of years living in San Francisco when I was growing up. From the age of ten through seventeen, the city by the bay was my home. When I moved to Canada in 1999, the definition of me was San Francisco. Even though Vancouver was a beautiful city, I never warmed up to it because I was always occupied with memories of San Francisco. When people asked me where I was from, I would proudly say "San Francisco!" I guess you could say "I Left My Heart in San Francicso."

Since I left, I went back to visit a couple of a times, each visit a memorable and heart warming experience. It felt comfortable to be back in a familiar city. A little more than a month ago, I went with Alex to Mountain View for a week when he was down for Google new hire training. This trip was my first trip back to the Bay Area in four years. I was excited to see the city again, anxious to show the town to Alex. I looked forward to stepping back in time momentarily and revisiting all the places I once called home.

But this trip was anything but heart warming. Something changed within me. I felt extremely sad and depressed when we drove past the street on which I used to live. Suddenly all the bad memories of life in San Francisco began to pour in, flooding my mind. My dad's depression. My mom's burden. Our struggle to stay. I saw my mom with bags of groceries fighting the crowd when Alex and I walked through Chinatown. I saw my dad walking back home on Van Ness Avenue as Alex and I drove down the busy street. I saw myself hanging around the Marina district as Alex and I ate dinner there. Bits of the past were flying towards me, overwhelming me. I didn't know how to deal with them. I didn't know how to deal with memories I didn't want to remember. I felt like I was being sucked back into the past, except I now knew how different life could be beyond the past. I felt like I was thrown back to live those seven years again, except I now knew the conclusion of that life.

As I revisit each part of my old familiar grounds, I realized how far I had gone since I left. This time, I went back as an adult. This time, I was visiting instead of coming back home. I guess at some point during these eight years, I left my San Franciscan home, and left my San Franciscan heart.