I miss
The sound of traffic driving past uneven Veteran avenue, where I first lived in Los Angeles and my friends continue to live.
The sound of helicopters flying above at all times of the day and night.
The sound of sirens every few minutes.
I miss
The two buses I take to go to USC across town to meet friends. Driving past the lit up streetlights arcade at LACMA, past the fancy boutiques of Miracle Mile, past the mannequins in bridal gowns in brightly lit windows.
The walk to Ralphs in Westwood, past the Ronald Reagan Medical Center where Michael Jackson died and Britney Spears allegedly sought psychiatric help.
Sitting at Kirchoff hall coffee shop and sipping on warm coffee looking at the people around me and feeling the warmth of the room.
Walking past the Internet room and feeling humbled, touching the walls trying to feel history seeped into them, trying to imagine the countless discussions the corridors would have seen, glad to be a part of the place, just to touch and feel the greatness of it and the ordinariness of it.
Coming home to my space, sitting on my bed and drinking the coffee I made and a few minutes of music and calm.
Friends dropping by randomly to have a cup of coffee and sometimes an omelette.
Cooking with spices in my tiny kitchen and breathing the smell of them for the rest of the day.
Catching snippets of Master Chef Australia between reading papers.
Walking back home from the library, the wind biting my skin, listening to ‘Stairway to Heaven’.
Texting friends in the middle of class, planning lunch outdoors.
Petting Elvis and Princess, the two huskies who take a break next to the Bruin bear statue everyday at 3.30 after a long walk around campus with Tom, their Master/Grandpa.
I miss
Venice Beach.
LA.
Home.
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