It’s amazing how quickly we can go through life, hardly realizing how much or how little things are changing around us. Another autumn, a new home. I had missed the seasons. Kunming, with its eternal springtime weather, had left me craving the crisp wind and sharp colors of Fall. The flight back to the States was easy. I woke up early the next morning (a Saturday) and went for a 5-mile run—the passing energy and optimism of jetlag and a long-awaited change to the status quo. The air was clearer, the water was colder, my bed was softer, my socks were fluffier. It was good to be home.
I spent my first two weeks expanding my job search, preparing for interviews, and packing away my childhood. I visited New York a couple times for interviews and to visit friends. I went to the gym nearly every day. I was doing my best to be proactive, not falling into the trap of idleness and laziness. It worked. Within 5 weeks of my return to the US, I got a job offer—with Google! After careful consideration, I decided to take it, and told them I’d move to San Francisco within one week’s time. Always on the move.
I grabbed a taxi from the San Francisco airport. I’m so used to sitting in the front seat of taxis from being in China, it felt strange to sit in the back. The driver was an Afghani man who’d been in the US for 25 years. He told me how he had a street stall selling goods on the weekend, how he worked so hard to support his children. I told him how I’d just returned from China, and he went off into a tangent about eating dogs, and how living in a neighborhood with a lot of Burmese, small dogs often went missing. I retold a few stories, and then, changing the subject, explained to him that it was great to be on the West Coast, that I was really excited, but that I was also going to miss my family a lot—that I have a large family, and I’ve been away from them for so long, that I was really hoping to get to spend more time with them before moving away again. He stopped. He took a breath, and told me that out of all the Americans he’d ever driven, I was the first one to express how important family is; rather, that most Americans say how great it is to live in the Bay Area, and that they don’t mind only seeing their families a couple times a year. He was clearly impressed, and I was somewhat moved as well.
There’s an odd feeling you get during life transitions, when you have moved from one place and not yet moved into another, of being homeless. Once again, I found my life packed away in 4 pieces of luggage, accompanying me to a new part of the world. I had a week before starting work, and had made it my goal to spend the interim getting to know San Francisco and finding a place to live. In the meantime, I’d booked a hotel room, and getting into SF after midnight, went straight to bed.
I had never been to California before, and frankly didn’t know what to expect. My concept of the San Francisco up to that point had come primarily from popular culture: Full House, The Rock, Milk—not necessarily the best background material. But, I have certainly learned how to explore a new place, how to quickly get a lay of the land, and make my way. I set out on foot the next morning, casing almost every main quarter of the city in my first few days. (I always like to explore a new place on foot—it helps me understand the layout much better than taking public transportation or group tours). I looked at over 5 apartments in one night, and kept looking. Fortunately, I’d reached out to my friends for help, and through a bit of actual social networking found an open room in a three-bedroom house in Haight-Ashbury with two other Googlers. The place was spacious, with a nice bathroom and kitchen, a back yard/patio, and the location seemed good: blocks from the historic hippie hangout of Haight Ashbury, walking distance to the Mission, the Panhandle (leading to Golden Gate Park) a block to the north, and Buena Vista Park (with its self-proclaimed spectacular views) a block to the north. I made a decision, and moved in.
San Francisco is eccentric. From classical pianists performing on the streets in Union Square to taqueries filled with the aroma of great Mexican food in the Mission, homeless hippies still so high on LSD in the Haight that they don’t realize 40 years have passed, and old black jazz musicians outside Yoshi’s on Fillmore complaining about local politics and Israeli settlements in the West Bank. It’s an exceptionally interesting place to be. And, you can be sure that I will write more on the subject.
Google, in kind, is also amazing. It’s almost like being in college again—smart people, cafeterias (except with good free food), league sports, clubs, gyms, shuttles home to SF, and the list of perks goes on. Google, which is in Mountain View, is a good 45 minutes to an hour and a half from my neighborhood in San Francisco. Fortunately , the company provides frequent free shuttles. I do have more to say, but it’s been a long, eventful day, and the shuttle that I’m on writing this right now is just about there. So, I’ll stop here for now.
I’m hoping to shift this blog to a new blog—something less China-centric—and I’m looking for name suggestions. So, leave a comment, and let me know what you think!
No comments:
Post a Comment