San Diego, CA

June 11, 2019

I’ve recently been told “sometimes you can be a really caring person and sometimes you just act like a dick.” I can’t see what is wrong with that, considering 1. if I had to be affected by everything people think of me, (as it used to happen on a very deep level in the past) I’d have to kill myself for not pleasing everyone every time; 2. depending on the situation, I react to stimuli and that is what, to you, is something “bad”. Can you always be caring? Can you always be a bitch? No. I alternate. And sorry not sorry, but that’s fine with me. Nature alternates. Sunny and rainy days. Deserted lands and florid areas.

I fit in the land around me. I fit in California apparently, as nothing stays the same driving from one point to the other, from one city to the other, and it just reminds me of me. I approach San Diego and I feel drawn to UCSD, University of California San Diego, so I find a parking spot close to the Library and I spend a couple of hours in the architecturally beautiful library after a quick run around the campus: if I could I would say rejuvenating but I still look old and tired so I’ll say “reinvigorating”. It feels nice to be in the academic environment again. One day I will find out why I always feel good, comfortable and safe when spending time in schools.

When I wake up on June 11th I take my time because the weather is gloomy and I can’t find a spot downtown that is really inspiring. I decide to drive through the city, I cross the bridge to Coronado Island and I stop at a local cafe where I get a chai latte after a while, and I just chill observing people around me. Not like a psycho, or maybe just like a psycho, but I just enjoy noticing what is going on around me, picturing different scenarios for those people who are sitting there, in silence, looking at their phones in a remote cafe in the middle of Ocean Beach. There is also a corner called Dog Beach, where I see all these people taking their dogs for a stroll, and that warms my day a little. I end up taking a couple of photos of the skyline from Centennial Park, and I feel a little accomplished.

I spend the afternoon at a park downtown where three dogs come greet me and their human approaches me too. We start talking and we eventually spend hours just sharing anecdotes about our lives, and the stories of those three rescue pups just amaze me. I end up in his apartment, taking care of the three dogs while he goes out for a business meeting. How crazy does this sound? I know, but I guess that’s just me. My friend Jordan calls me while I’m in that apartment –where I could see the city from high above the building– concerned about what I just told him: stranger, dogs, his apartment. He calls me an idiot and I have to stop trusting people so easily. He may be right. But what am I actually doing has nothing to do with people, I am just spending time with dogs. When he gets back, I say bye and leave, feeling a little confused for what just happened: have I really spent a couple of hours waiting for a stranger to get back home while looking after his dogs? Yes. With Jordan’s words echoing in my head and all, I just start driving until I’m tired and pull over for the night. I feel brainwashed. San Diego is too close to Los Angeles. I need to find somewhere else to go before ending up in my City of Angels again, and I am not ready yet.

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