I love San Francisco for all the right reasons; diversity, climate awareness, technology and innovation, good food, art, and amazing views, but who wouldn’t like that? Since the first day I landed in San Francisco, I knew I wanted to stay forever, but it took me a decade to learn how to answer when people ask me why.
I first came to San Francisco in 2008 to visit a university where I wanted to pursue a Master’s Degree in Advertisement. My uncle picked me up at the airport and took me to my aunt Elsita’s house in San Francisco’s Mission District. Before he dropped me off, we stopped for a quick bite at a taqueria. There were so many Latinos there that I felt the warmth of my culture right away.
Then we drove to my aunt’s place. We parked in front of a bar called Revolution Cafe. The place was packed. I saw all kinds of people. Some young and others old, some straight and others gay, with funny hats and rasta heads, smoking weed or cigarettes. They were floating with the music of a piano playing inside, and the sounds of a guitar energized the crowd outside. Finally, we reached our destination. It was late, and I was ready to rest. I laid on the bed smiling, listening to the guitars and trumpets of a Mariachi band playing outside.
The next day Elsita and I went on a mini-tour of her neighborhood. She planned to go for an ice-cream at the famous Dolores Park. I saw bright green hills, huge palm trees, some people napping on top of colorful blankets and some playing catch with their dogs. It was the most beautiful park I had ever seen. After the ice-cream, we strolled down Valencia Street. It was love at first sight. I loved its rustic coffee shops and tiny boutiques.
We walked on Mission Street and Elsita went back to her place. I continued the tour by myself. I saw fruits and vegetables showing their bright colors everywhere I looked. I went in and out countless produce stores and discovered Latin products that I had never seen in my life. There were candies from Brazil, beans from Nicaragua, corn from Chile and alfajores from Peru. Every Latin country was represented. At lunchtime, I found a Salvadoran Pupuseria and ate two pupusas filled with melted cheese, beans, and chicharron. I experienced more of my culture during one hour in the Mission than in my home country, Nicaragua.
The next day I met with a friend to tour other neighborhoods. We met at the top of a hill in Pacific Heights and walked down. The crowd was different. The girls looked chic and fresh, and the guys seemed relaxed. I loved to see people chatting and wandering around. I couldn’t stop smiling. Butterflies were dancing in my stomach, I was delighted and nervous at the same time. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have the opportunity to live here if I wanted to, and all fully paid off by my generous dad.
We arrived at the top of Fillmore Street and stopped to enjoy the view. The scene was mesmerizing. Tiny sailboats perfectly arranged on the calm waters of the bay, surrounded by green mountains resting right off the Golden Gate Bridge. Then we headed downhill to the Marina and from there, we went to Ghirardelli Square and Fisherman’s Wharf. We walked through parks where people were reading, having picnics or resting under the sun. We walked through huge pines and cold sand. I was breathing pure, futuristic air. I sensed hope for myself in this place filled with unique personalities and colorful characters.
Soon the tour was over and it was time to say goodbye to my friend. I walked to Elsita’s house singing the San Francisco song, certain that soon I would too “wear flowers in my hair” and meet “one of those gentle people in there”. I knew right then that San Francisco was the perfect place to live while I completed my Master’s Degree.
Three years later, I graduated from the Advertisement Master’s. I also graduated from my first Burning Man experience, my first moving-in with your boyfriend experience, my first miscarriage, and my first being mentored by an exceptional designer experience. I graduated with painful honors from all of those experiences which were the foundation of my evolution into adulthood.
After graduation, my boyfriend and I moved to Brazil, his home country. We love Brazil, it is a beautiful country, but after a year of living there, we knew it wasn’t the right place for us to settle. So, we moved back to San Francisco where we would have to start all over again.
Starting over with no money and no job wasn’t easy. I wasn’t used to any of that. My life had been carefully planned and cared for by my family; entertainment, food, and comfort were always provided for me. I didn’t know how to deal with this new life, all I knew was to worry and put a load of stress in my head.
After too many months of weekly job interviews, and daily rejection emails my mother started to question our decision to live in San Francisco. Her interrogation made me question our decision too. Are you sure you want to live in San Francisco? Why do you like it so much? Isn’t there a more affordable state? We have family in Miami, why don’t you move there? Why San Francisco? I couldn’t give her an answer that she wouldn’t challenge, and I was starting to doubt I will ever have one.
By then it had been five years since I first came to San Francisco. I was a student The first three years, and now my husband and I were trying to make it with one income in the most expensive city in the United States. We started living at my aunt’s house and then when we couldn’t stay there anymore, we rented a room in the basement of a friend’s house. For ten months, we slept on an air mattress that had to be pumped at 2 am every night. At that point, I felt as if I was going to panic and decide to go back to the security of my parents’ arms. But I was also ready to grow up. Since I was a young teenager all I ever wanted was to be independent and survive on my own. So, I persevered during the bad times but constantly asked myself if staying in San Francisco was worth the struggle.
Why San Francisco? — I kept asking myself the same question over and over again.
The weekend after Thanksgiving was nice and sunny. It was one of those perfect Fall days in the bay. I decided to go out for breakfast and stocked my bag with the basics: a notebook, three pens, my phone, and headphones, and headed out the door. I went to a coffee shop, ordered a dripped coffee and egg sandwich and went to the patio. My idea was to write Christmas letters for my family, and then try to answer the burning question.
After breakfast, I reached for the first Christmas card. I stared at it for about five minutes. Words weren’t emerging on the card; they weren’t on my mind either. I stared at it for a few more seconds and then chose a different card. Nothing, no words came up, my mind was as blank as the cards. Soon I noticed a cold wind creeping in through my jeans and sweater sleeves. In an instant, clouds covered the sun and it got cold; typical San Francisco weather. I needed to find a warmer place to sit down and write, so I packed up my bag and left the cold patio. Two blocks down, I found a parklet with an empty table. Not surprisingly, for San Francisco, it was sunny again. I sat down facing the sun which is one of my favorite things to do. Ten minutes passed by, and I was frustrated because the Christmas cards were still blank, so I switched to writing in my journal, but my mind was far away from the words I was looking for. I meditated about my frustration and realized that I was forcing myself to write. So I decided to do my next favorite thing instead; walk and explore. Once again, I gathered up my things, and let my explorer side drive me around Valencia Street.
The first stop was at a cool antique store. I heard music coming from the inside, and soon a piano melody was caressing my ears. There was a lovely display of vintage typewriters and French desk lamps. I took a mental picture of the black metallic keywords of the typewriters and walked around the store. At the back of the store, I found a poetry library. It had a small sofa where a girl was reading. I envied her, but then I saw a writer’s desk with its matching chair. It was buried under a wall filled with books. It was warm and cozy and I had to force myself out of there. For an aspiring writer who loves to read and write poetry that place was a dreamed world.
Then I stumbled into a pirates’ world, a dark cave surrounded by black walls. After adjusting my eyes to the dim lights, I noticed the place was full of books, all of them pirate-themed. There were reading books, coloring books, journals, and all sorts of writing tools. I saw a bright space on the back and discovered that the place was a non-profit organization. They support students writing skills and inspire them to hone their craft. That place would have been perfect for me as a little girl, desperate to find a safe space to be alone and write.
My journey continued down Valencia Street until I saw a curious window display. I went inside and walked down the store labyrinth full of people. I saw precious rocks and animal skeletons. There were live plants and dead ones too. There were fossils and insects, skulls and life. It was fascinating to see how design, nature, and science were all playing together at the same time. I could feel my brain expanding with all the new information it grasped. My last stop was at a kids’ store where I played the drums of a tiny band, picked up a yo-yo and looked into a wooden kaleidoscope. There was an old fashioned slingshot and a modern telescope. It was all magic and fun.
Walking back to my place I couldn’t stop thinking about all the new and inspiring things I saw in just a few blocks. It was during those last steps that I finally answered the question on the back of my mind; why San Francisco? At that moment I realized that I didn’t choose to live here; San Francisco had been chosen for me, and I accepted it. Being the free-spirited person that I am, I gladly followed the wills of fate and destiny.
Once at home I grabbed my journal and began to write. That day back in 2012, I found myself in my San Francisco, in a world so unreal that only I can live in it, and only I can tell the story of its existence. That day I wrote down all the beautiful qualities of the city I love, but I wasn’t able to explain why I love it using quick, simple words.
I needed seven more years to achieve that. I needed to let go of the people in my mind who wanted me to be rational. I needed to stop trying to explain to them that I was here for a reason they could understand.
At that time I still needed to become a mother and experience the city with two kids by my side. l needed to find a job I love and become the designer I knew I was. I still needed to suffer a few more hardships of real adult life, like accepting that some friends know me better than my closest family members will ever do, or start loving my partner for who he is and not for who I thought I wanted him to be. I still needed to explore my mysticism and feel confident to follow my instincts. I need to stop to fear my religion and start questioning its principles. I needed to embrace myself and love my freedom.
Today, after a decade of living here, free of the need to explain myself and released from the insecurities of my mind, I finally have the confidence to simply say that I love this city because I feel great here, and that’s all I need to love living in San Francisco.
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