Growing up in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains and going to school in the Berkeley hills, I’ve always found comfort in vistas and views. Moving the East Coast has been difficult, and I’ve found that my heart misses standing atop of rock and concrete, peering at life below.
I yearn for the top of mountains, for peaks and cliffs. Seeing trees outline ridges in the distance, and birds flying about below. Touching the clouds and kissing the skies.
I year rooftops on city high-rises. Seeing people milling about below, the size of ants, entering tiny cars and the bases of tall buildings. Standing calm, above the chaos and noise of the city below.
I yearn for perspective and the curvature of the world, stretching to no where, and making me feel at home. I yearn to see and think. I yearn to live.