I thought I would return
to Tijuana with a head full of new information on the city from all the books I
would read. But instead I returned knowing only more about myself, not the
city. Perhaps that was the topic that would be most relevant to my journey
back. That it was really about me all along, not the city. And that until I
knew more about myself, I could not embrace new knowledge of the city. I needed
my new eyes and ears and mind to be able to grasp it, and hold on to it, and
live it and dream it.
I needed to form my own
impression of the city, my own narrative before I could understand and learn
from the narratives of others. Their perceptions are not insightful or alarming
until I have a perception of my own. Until I have some context in which to
understand the city. The images and smells and feelings color my own story. And
I weave the stories of other’s through that.
I woke up today at 8:00am
when my friend left for work, then I decided to go back to sleep. I woke again at 10:00am and
ate my leftover pasta. Then I went back to bed and woke at 11:30. I cannot
remember the last time I allowed myself to sleep in so much.
This morning, it was as though I was sleeping-in
three different times, three days in a row. It was glorious. It was mine. The
bed was so comfortable, the room so dark and cool and quiet. And I am free.
Yesterday at the San Diego airport I was overwhelmed with this sensation of
freeness. It is a feel that only comes to me when I am alone, and when I am
traveling.As I was walking through the airport to go to the rideshare pick up
zone, I realized suddenly that I was free. I had not one with me to consider,
no where to be urgently, nothing that I must do. If I wanted, I could have
taken a seat by the cinnamon role stand and sat there for as long as I liked. I
could have walked slowly past the tree that stood in the center of the sky
bridge to see if they really were fig trees, as I suspected. I didn’t have anywhere urgent to be. That's how I felt again when I awoke this morning. The sun would be
waiting for me when I woke up all the same. The lavender coffee would still be
delicious. And, because I know it’s Mexico, the cafe would not be busy until
night and lunch doesn’t even start until 1:00pm. I could have stayed n that bed
all day if I wished. I had no one else to consider but myself and it was
glorious.
I stepped out onto the
street at a quarter past noon and the fierce sun greeted me with onyx shows and
gold-plated neighborhoods. It is a sun I only know on this latitude.
I am so happy to be here.
I am smiling without anyone looking at me. Smiling not out of kindness or human
connection, but out of joy. That’s not all too common of me, I’ve realized.
When he lived in other
cities, he had a fear-of-missing-out all the time. He felt like he needed to go out every night
or else the world would continue on without him. But in Tijuana, because the
partying happens every night consistently, he feels like he is not missing
anything. He gives himself permission to get off and back on when he wants. The
party will still be there for him. This city gives the illusion that every
opportunity is available to you all the time. Time and age and experience and
circumstance will never eliminate the choices you have. This is perhaps the
fantasy. In everywhere else in the world, it is known that if you wait too long
you will miss your chance. But here, the options will be handed to you,
tonight, and overnight, but not in endless monotony or repetition, because the
city reinvents itself constantly, so the choices are forever new….
- Except from my diary,
January 12, 2018
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