Personal

Personal

Thinking back to when times were simpler and the world wasn’t suffering through a pandemic, there I stood so young and care-free. I wasn’t bombarded by assignments or classwork as it was the middle of summer break of junior high. My family and I were off to Cancun, Mexico for the next couple of weeks. This was my first time traveling outside of the country and it will be one I won’t forget.

As we arrived and exited the small aircraft, I was immediately hit with the blazing humidity. I could only bare it for so long as I craved the air conditioning inside the airport. Shortly after grabbing our luggage, we made our way to the Mayan Resort Palace where we would be staying for our trip. I couldn’t contain my excitement as younger Meghan was incessantly talking and starting arguments with my brother about who would get to do what first. Once my parents had just about had enough of us, they dropped us off at the resort pool the next day and we all went our separate ways. The rest of the day we hung around the resort and relaxed as we got used to the time difference.

Although the resort was lovely, we also planned activities that required us to leave and explore. Our first destination was famous Mayan ruins, Chichen Itza. This complex of ruins contained historical architecture and in the middle of it all, an enormous towering step shaped pyramid. The geometric buildings were a sight to see and this landmark is one of the 7 Wonders of the World. I was truly blessed to be standing on such sacred ground and to see these monuments for myself.

The next day was also filled with adventure as we headed to the cenotes. Cenotes are underground caves that contain fresh water and allow for tourists to go swimming and see its beauty. However, these attractions are very hard to find and must be accessed through a tour guide company. My family and I were a part of a tour group that provided dune buggies to these remote locations that contained the pools. The drive was around 15 minutes through thick, dry bush, and by the time we arrived I looked over at my Mom and she was covered from head to toe in dust. We then took a large flight of steep stairs down into the first opening to the cave of the cenote. We were told not to touch any of the limestone that covered the walls as the oils from our skin could damage the stone and could ruin this beautiful landmark in the future. However, my brother and I had the time of our lives swimming through crevices and deep into the water.

This was just the start of the many trips to Mexico that my family would eventually embark on. Traveling is an opportunity I never take for granted and being able to experience new cultures and places with the people you love makes it all worth it.

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December 1, 2018

8 hours and 20 minutes until Vienna. I’ve never been on an airplane where they say everything in Dutch before English. I laugh at my own shallow view of the world.

I am sipping on a new drink called Almdudler, flirting with my flight attendant. I suspect we both may be gay; this flirting is not the type to take you home but rather a friendship that bonds over an unspoken truth. He asks me my age and I stumble over saying I am 19. “It’s an international flight dear, you can drink here”, he laughs at me, dances off and brings me a glass of red wine. He teaches me to say thank you, I stutter “dank-a-sha”. We laugh more, this time I feel light and bubbly, not so afraid of my platonic lover.

I step off the airplane and into Grace’s arms. We are both exhausted. Now, from Vienna, my best friend and I will travel down to the end of the Earth—Cape Town. A five-hour layover breezes by.

On flight number two I blink in and out of sleep. In this foreign place people gather in the cabin, drinks in hand, laughing in languages I can’t quite make out. As I move down the aisle, strangers smile and greet me as I stumble to explain I only speak English. They switch over in seconds like its second nature. They are happy to speak in any tongue. I question my own identity, how am I surrounded by all these humans who hold so much knowledge? What limits have been placed on me from the place I call home?

I fade in and out and wake up to the bluest pool. The fog is rolling in over Table Mountain, palm trees line the sky. Night owls don’t often see 6am, but jet lag has shown me a little travelers magic.

Hours later I trudge up that same mountain from my morning view. My group speeds ahead of me, even Grace has left me far behind. I didn’t realize I was so out of shape, though I try to tell myself it’s okay. I’ve come here to reconnect with myself, to rediscover who I am. So perhaps a trek up a mountain alone will be good for my head.

As I reach the peak I scan across the hazy ocean and gawk at the city scape. How foolish us Americans are, categorizing Africa as one massive impoverished desert. Despite poverty, Cape Town is one of the most developed and cherished cities in the world. I silently confront my ignorance once again.

A top of the mountain we sit for a lecture, today we are focusing on wealth inequality. A question is posed: is it ethical to drive a Bugatti, one of the most expensive vehicles on the market, flying down a freeway that passes by tin homes where people have nearly nothing? I rephrase the question in sorts: is it ethical for us to spend thousands flying across the country, dressed in our Patagonia and Lululemon, only to walk down the streets to “study” the lives of those who have less than us?

As the week passes by, this question circles through my head. I am in this space, speaking to people who have lived through the Apartheid, a horror I have only learned about through textbooks. During my wine tasting the South African man cautions us, “please, don’t worry about our problems, we are going about healing just fine. We don’t need your American meddling, or so you call it, ‘help’.” South Africa’s world class and exceptionally inexpensive wine is a direct result of the aftermath of the Apartheid. I enjoy this drink with ease at the hands of someone else’s suffering, yet, these people don’t want my help. This is the death of my American Ego. My sip that follows is much larger.

On this plane ride home, my feet feel heavy. Grace carries her bag like its weightless, I am uncertain she carries the same lessons home as me. I think, this trip has been about me entirely, and also, not at all. 18 hours till I’m home and I am starting to feel small. It was my first time out of the country, and I feel ignorant, but I guess not so ignorant anymore. I wonder what it means to call the United States home. I wonder how I’ll walk off this airplane and live my life knowing that after all, we are were not all that.

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Now that it’s fall, passers by will often see me in my favorite green pullover with “Teton Valley, Idaho” written on it underneath a drawing of Idaho’s mountain-scape. Every once in a while I have someone stop me to tell me they’ve been camping, hiking, or biking there.

My grandpa grew up in Teton Valley, as did much of my extended family. In an effort to remain close to each other, we have an annual family reunion, camping for a weekend in the valley. Traditions we have include horseback riding, hiking, jewelry making, and taking the kids to the creek to watch them try and cross and eventually fall in. I remember on my first reunion, I ran out of socks in two days because I’d gotten all of them wet. On the last night, we have a raffle to give away prize items that range from Teton merchandise to family-made blankets, necklaces and paintings. That’s where I got my pullover from.

But the most incredible experience I’ve had there was a couple years ago. Teton Valley happened to be in the center of a lunar eclipse. For a brief moment the entire world in front of me was bathed in a tangerine twilight. Cameras couldn’t capture it properly. The redness of the mountain, the warmth bouncing off each needle of pine. The campfire sent a bright red hue onto the kid’s faces, as they held still in wonder for the first time in that whole weekend. I saw a gleam in the eye of Aunt Doris, who objected to being wheeled out of her trailer that evening, but was finally convinced the cold would be worth it. A tear rolled down my cheek when I looked next to me at my mother’s water-welled eyes, and wide grin. She’s the one that convinced everyone it would be worth coming to watch this feat of nature. The eclipse was the moment that the biggest space nerd of the family’s dreams came true.

The lunar eclipse’s center will not be in the United States again for a long time. It feels almost like fate that the valley which holds so much of my family history became the epicenter of this breathtaking event.

The pandemic has meant that I could not hear that creek skip over stones, horses clop up the trail, or the campfire crackling under moonlight this year. It’s meant that I couldn’t pick huckleberries in the valley and blend them into milkshakes or savor their unique tang. But I’ll look forward to the next time I see my aunties knitting blankets outside their trailers, while their kids roast marshmallows. Teton Valley will always have more memories with my family to unlock, and more places to fill in my heart.

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There is a kind of comfort that can be found in places that stay the same as you change. They hold memories better. They are the sort of places that hold you in the palm of their hand, and you visit again and again to trace the constant curves of the lines etched into the skin. San Francisco is one of these places. It may have been a major U.S economic and cultural center for over a century, but everything there is just build on the ruins of something else, and time heals all wounds.

The city is ancient by Californian standards, and set in its ways. If you walk west down Jefferson street through Fisherman’s Wharf with your high school friends, doing the things that people are supposed to do, because that’s what high school friends do, you pass Boudin’s Bakery Café, which has been there since 1849, but you also pass an In-n-Out. Most likely, unless you want to wait in a line and spend too much money- you won’t eat at either. If you keep walking you can visit Ghirardelli’s Chocolate Marketplace, and you can walk out on Municipal Pier and look at the Golden Gate Bridge. You might not see it if it’s foggy, but that’s the true San Francisco experience. If you really like walking and want to hit all the hot spots, you can keep walking, you can see Fort Mason, and remember that San Francisco is really one big colonizer settlement on indigenous (Ramaytush) land, and then you can walk more, and pass a Safeway that does happen to be open at 3 a.m., if that was something you were needing to know. Go further any you will come across the Palace of Fine Arts, which you can wander about in, watch various birds in ponds, and wonder about its purpose. Most likely at this point you will come to no satisfactory conclusion; however you should also note that you can visit here at any day at any time and it will always look pretty much the same, though at night it may be dark.

Now if you want to you could keep walking and go through the Presidio and Golden Gate Park, but quite frankly that’s a lot of walking and I’ve never done that, so I won’t talk about it. You could also walk (again, long), or uber, or drive (if you can park) up to Twin Peaks to see the city from above. It’ll probably be very windy, and it might be too foggy to see far, you may find yourself huddling in a little concave in the side of the mountain, and if it is night it will most likely be dark, but it’s always fun to stand on top of a tall thing and look down. After that, you might be hungry, so you can head down Market Street, or literally any other street, and get something to eat that is most likely fusion something and over-priced but also good.

If you prefer to do a little less sight-seeing and a little more aimless wandering (particularly if you happen to start this journey near the bus station) you can wander around near Oracle Park and Mission Bay in the very early morning when it’s foggy and no one is around. It should be noted that is an unusual state for San Francisco, and it’s far more likely you end up visiting a busy farmers market in the Tenderloin, and then leaving the Tenderloin because there isn’t much else to do except watch people do heroin. For a bit of juxtaposition, you can then visit Lower Nob Hill (or almost any other shopping area), and wander past very wealthy people and through fancy department stores that sell exactly the same thing as every other department store, except these ones happen to be in San Francisco, which makes them Cool.

If it’s getting late in the day, and you are getting kind of tired, you can wander through SF MOMA, and then grab Ben and Jerry’s, carrots, and hummus from a Target nearby and sit on a bench at the top of Yerba Buena Park and watch the reflection of the evening sun on the San Francisco skyline from below. You can do this several times a year all through high school, whenever the dusty goings on of sprawling flat capital cities starts to wear on the soul a little, and a 6 am bus ticket is only 10 dollars. It’s a tame little adventure. The next day, people ask you what you did with your weekend. You tell them you went to San Francisco. They don’t ask what you did- you did San Francisco things. What more is there to say?

There’s nothing quite like San Francisco to remind you that the more things change, the more things stay the same. It’s always different, every time I go, under construction, or renovation, or hazy with the dust kicked up by a million feet that are only passing through, and yours and mine are among them. But it’s always that way. So you can wander the streets aimlessly, when you are younger, and older, and older still, and you can stand in the places where everyone does, and see the same things that everyone sees, but through your own eyes- which maybe makes it special. Then maybe later, you come back, and go to the same places and look at the same things, and they look a little different, but then again so do you, though they don’t look so different that you can’t remember what it was like to look at them back then. These things don’t remember you, and soon they might sink into the sea, or rather the sea will rise to cover them, and it won’t be anything at all but swirling eddies you can see from some new coast, where you look out and remember the harsh ocean wind that scoured sand against your sun burnt skin on Ocean Beach that one day you were much younger than you will be then, and went to San Francisco for the day, and splurged on a clipper card, and took the train to the beach, drank ice coffee in an over-crowded café, and spent too long in the sun.

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I thought and understood that I would leave Denver someday because I had no plans to stay in the U.S. after college, and I wanted to return to China. But I never thought it would come so suddenly. It took less than a week when I received the charter flight email from the embassy to the time I packed my bags and headed home. I didn’t say goodbye to Denver, and even on the way to the airport, I told myself that my departure was only temporary and that I would come back.

I love Denver in the fall, watching the leaves turn yellow little by little. It’s an unexplainable feeling, but the mood gets better somehow. In the fall, I like to drive around Denver with my friends and enjoy the scenery. Denver is the most beautiful place in autumn. Maybe it’s because the city I live in China has a shortfall, so I am overly fond of autumn. I also love our campus, I love all the flowers and trees, and I love DU after the snow. I love the city of Denver so much.

Since I left my hometown at the age of 18, Denver has helped me grow up a lot. Denver made me a more independent girl, leaving my parents’ protective wings and relying on myself for everything. I can say that after going abroad is to make the world by myself. Everything depends on me. I took a lot of detours and shed a lot of tears. But looking back now, I am confident and proud of my achievements. I used to feel that I was not good enough in every aspect, but now I think I am unique and beautiful both in appearance and soul. I have to admit that I grew up under my parents’ protective wings in China, who protected me so well that I was never wronged. But coming to Denver, where I live in a more culturally diverse place, I have become more and more able to appreciate myself and others and embrace anyone’s differences. Even less likely to judge someone for being different from myself. I have also been able to understand and embrace people I don’t like because of their experiences. I grew up in a family environment that success means a happy family, a successful career, money, cars, and a house. Still, over the years, I’ve realized that everyone’s definition of success is different. So life is much happier with less comparison.

Thanks to my parents’ ability to let me out to see the outside world. Every country has its own different cultures, and there is a big difference between American and Chinese cultures. Because of the cultural differences, living in Denver for so many years has significantly broadened my horizons, truly experienced multiculturalism, practiced the ability to think independently, and cultivated the mindset to face victory and defeat openly. It has also helped me to understand human nature and society more comprehensively. This is an experience that I cannot imitate or taste in China.

Denver gave me my first little house of my own, my first car of my own, and taught me many things to understand. I have unique feelings for Denver, and I know that it will be hard for me to return to this city as soon as I leave Denver, so let’s keep these thoughts in my heart. Denver, we are destined to meet again. I love Denver, my second hometown.

 

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I’m good on airplanes, flying above the Earth in a small cylinder has never bothered me. I try to sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight as pilots often advise. However, on my flight to the Bahamian Island of Andros, the pilot added a step to the overused gimmick and asked me to hold the plane door open. I found myself sitting in the cockpit of a six-seater Beechcraft Bonanza A36 next to a pilot I had met five minutes ago, holding the airplane door open. Suffice it to say, I was sitting straight up, stressing out, and beginning to question my life choices.

View from the cockpit

Accompanying me on the plane were my bags, full of SCUBA gear, and three other volunteers who were all grateful they weren’t the ones holding the plane door open. The pilot, a competent flyer, felt no need to offer an explanation for the seemingly bizarre request. The gate agent didn’t even check my ticket at the terminal in Nassau. This was my first taste of the ‘go with the flow’ attitude the islanders in the Bahamas had.

To my great relief, the pilot asked me to close the door just before takeoff and we landed in Andros 45 minutes later. We were picked up by a taxi driver who threw our bags in the bed of the truck. He threw me in the bed as well after realizing there were enough seats in the cab. This capped off the craziest travel experience of my life.

Over the next few weeks, the group of volunteers honed our diving skills and scrubbed unhealthy algae off of coral nurseries. Under the water, I had a purpose and a schedule to follow. Everything is timed when diving: O2 levels, depth, time spent underwater, but above the waves was a different story.

The Beach I lived on in Andros, pictured at sunset

Life felt like it slowed to half the speed of what my life in America felt like. Bahamians relaxed like professionals. Timeliness was an option, arriving casually late was the norm. People took the time to greet everyone they saw at the store, bar, or on the beach.  I was told by the locals that it was considered rude to not greet strangers when passing by.

At first, I struggled to relax despite the beauty that surrounded me. I had moved to the Bahamas for a reason, I was on a mission of sorts, to help out an issue I felt passionate about. With so much free time throughout the day, I began to feel aimless and even useless. It was hard for me to feel content or satisfied with my day when I would accomplish nothing. A week of bad weather kept us landlocked, which only contributed to my restlessness.

I got to spend more time with the locals that week since I wasn’t diving. I noticed that everyone around me was almost always in high spirits. People were content with relaxing and taking life at a slower pace. Someone had to remind me how lucky I was to be there, and how much my surroundings could teach me.

I was failing to appreciate the beauty around me and was focusing too hard on things beyond my control. So, the next time I went to the local shop, I tried to remain in the moment. I wasn’t annoyed that the shopkeeper took ten minutes to show up, instead, I embraced the sounds and sights around me.

My life is so fast-paced in America, I don’t realize all of the little things in life that we all just glance over. When things slow down, my focus expands and I began to learn more about myself and the people around me. I took the time to build connections and create memories. Little tasks started to feel like grand adventures which helped me learn in the end, how to relax.

As I said farewell to the island of Andros and boarded the skinny prop plane, I felt no rush to get home. I sat back in my seat, held the airplane door open, and enjoyed the flight.

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Let’s travel back to the summer of 2018, shall we? A time where there were no face masks, a time when we could hug our loved ones, and a time when I was going on college tours.

An ambitious rising high school senior, I had big goals of what to do with my college experience. I wanted a big school with lots of students and diversity, a place where my professors were invested in me and my education, a school full of spirit and enthusiasm, and a place where I could find a tight-knit group of friends to last a lifetime. I guess no one told me these expectations were straight from a late-2000s rom-com, somewhere along the lines of Legally Blonde.

A girl in a wheelchair smiling under a big arch at the University of Southern California
Me, at the University of Southern California, July of 2018

My parents were, as you can imagine, a bit overwhelmed by my long list of requirements. But they supported me the entire way and took me on a road trip across the country to tour schools.

We started out at the top of California, to visit Stanford and Berkley. Yeah, I’m that kind of nerd. I only had a few anxiety attacks on the drive there – I think I had one in Salt Lake City and one at the hotel in Berkley. I hadn’t realized the weight of the decision I was trying to make until we were already on the way. I was ultimately deciding where my family and I were going to move and live for the next 4+ years.

Being physically disabled creates a lot of barriers and boundaries to cross in life, and this was going to be the biggest yet. My mom told me she was going to support and help me the whole way through, after all, my definition of independence was (and is) different than my peers. While most rising seniors are stressing about parties or moving far away from home, I was stressing about insurance for my caregivers and what that would be like in a different state. So, my mom promised me that wherever I decided to go, they would move within a 20-minute drive away so she could be my backup plan.

Sure, that sounded nice and comforting… but also felt like the weight of the world was resting on my shoulders. They told me not to worry, but how was I supposed to enjoy my tours when in the back of my mind my family’s stability was lingering?

I still enjoyed the adventures, though. I traveled through the hilly area of Berkley, felt the baking summer heat in Stanford, pictured myself studying dutifully in each library and café, and then we worked our way south towards UCLA and Whittier College. But we couldn’t travel through Anaheim, California without two necessary pit-stops – Disneyland and Universal Studios!

A girl posing with the character Eeyore at Disneyland.
Eeyore and I, July 2018

Okay, so it wasn’t really a “pit-stop,” per say, since we spent about 4 days running amok. It was a much-needed break, though! I felt very nostalgic as I took pictures with characters like Peter Pan and the Mad Hatter while internally freaking out about growing up. There’s nothing like the magic of Disney and Harry Potter to remind you who you are.

Hogwarts lit up at night at Universal Studios
Hogwarts, July 2018

I left that part of the trip and progressed to visit UCLA and Whittier, finally feeling like my old childish self again. I didn’t stress about what library spot I would have, or what gifts I should get from their bookstores. I simply looked at the campuses, the cities around them, and tried to imagine myself living there (regardless of where my parents lived). I was able to picture myself enjoying my time at each place, and was getting excited about the adventures waiting for me.

On the drive back, we stopped at Las Vegas, Nevada. I spent one afternoon sitting and filling out postcards to send my friends while my parents rested. I quickly explained to each friend a different memory from each place, secretly trying to convince them to apply to the same schools I was. As I read over each and corrected some pen smudge-marks, I realized that I felt content with each campus I visited. Although I ruled out Berkley and Whittier pretty fast, I still saw the beauty in them.

 

A statue of the yellow m&m holding up a big box of m&ms at night.
The strip in Vegas, July of 2018

Maybe the college experience didn’t need to fit inside a 97-minute rom com starring Reece Witherspoon, maybe it just needed to be nice for me. And that’s what I found just up the highway from my high school, the beautiful campus of the University of Denver!

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Personal Article

Cuba

 

Have you ever been to a place that changes the way you think?  I used to think this wasn’t possible.  I thought it was just some stupid thing people put in Instagram captions after their study abroad experience. That changed, however, when I visited Cuba for the first time in 2017.

I, as I’m sure is the case with many people, had always had the impression that Cuba was some wild and lawless place.  I had heard bits and pieces about Cuba and communism in movies and television, but that was the extent of my knowledge.  With this small bit of information bouncing around in my head, I found myself slightly nervous in the weeks leading up to my Cuba trip.  Though the trip was labeled as an “educational excursion,” in reality, it was a fishing trip.  We were set to arrive in Havana, where we would for two days before traveling south to a small fishing village along the coast.

When I arrived, I almost found comfort in seeing that my preconceived notion of Cuba seemed to check out.  The airport was old, sweaty, and broken down, not to mention the armed guards and strange people in lab coats walking around.  After convening with our group for the next 10 days, we loaded into a cramped van and set off for our hotel.  As we drove through the city of Havana, I felt as though I had stepped into a time machine.  The buildings were old, the cars were very old, and I did not see many brands that I recognized.  By the time we made it to the Hotel National in old Havana, I felt I knew it all about Cuba.  Boy was I wrong.

That afternoon we met our tour guide for the next two days, Orlando.  I was surprised to see him wearing a fresh pair of Nike sneakers and nice clothes.  As Orlando began showing us his city and his people, I began to realize that my ideas may have been wrong.  After hearing rumors of an oppressive government and seeing the broken down society I thought surely the people must be unhappy.  To my surprise, I learned that the opposite was true.  Over the next day and a half I learned Orlando’s story, as well as the truth about life in Cuba.  It turns out that most of my preconceived ideas were actually true, and the truth is the that life is very challenging in Cuba.  However, what I did not expect to learn is that the Cuban people are some of the friendliest and most resourceful people you will ever meet.  Additionally, there is a tremendous sense of pride amongst the people.  This took me by surprise.  Orlando told us that due to the government restrictions, it is incredibly difficult to make a substantial amount of money to support your family.  I was most surprised to find out that tour guides and taxi drivers are actually some of the wealthiest people in Cuba (hence the nice clothes and Nikes).  What is even more amazing is that Orlando taught himself English by listening to Eminem CDs.  As we left Orlando and the city of Havana the next day, I wondered if the people in the tiny fishing town would share the same sense of pride and generosity that I had experienced in the city.

When we arrived in town the roads were dusty and filled with strays, and many of the houses seemed to be falling apart.  Nevertheless, immediately we saw children laughing and playing soccer in the center of town, as well as groups of older citizens enjoying an afternoon drink together.  Over the next week I experienced some of the most humbling generosity that I have ever witnessed in my life.  Not only were these people willing to share what little they had, but they were excited to do so.  Each night our group was hosted at a different home for delicious meals.  The owners would sing songs and teach us all about the food we were eating and where it came from.  When the time came to leave at the end of the week, I found myself reflecting on what I had experienced during my time in Cuba.

I often think about the Cuban people and their amazing ability to make light of almost any situation.  One story in particular often comes to mind when I am trying to describe the Cuban people to someone who has never been.  Every day while staying in the fishing village, we had to take an hour long van ride along a dirt road to the flats we would be fishing.  This dirt road had not been serviced by the government in who knows how long and, as I said before, the van was extremely old.  Midway through the week after a long day of fishing we were taking our long and bumpy van ride back to our hotel, when the one of our axels legitimately fell off of the van.  Luckily, there was a second van behind us which was able to take us back to town.  But what of our driver and the van?  A couple hours later back at the hotel we watched a government truck bring our van and our driver to the hotel.  Before long, our driver had his toolbox out in the driveway of where we were staying and began working on the car.  By the time we left for dinner that night, our driver had been joined by some of his friends and the hotel staff.  At this point there was a few chairs surrounding the van and at least one bottle of rum.  When we returned from dinner, I was amazed to see the group of “mechanics” had grown to about 10 people, with an extension chord running from indoors to power a monitor which was playing a soccer game, and at least 5 bottles of rum.  The van was seemingly in pieces and it was already about 10 pm.  Needless to say, I was sure that the van would not be running the next day.  But sure enough, bright and early the next day our driver Julio was waiting with a smile and a running van.  He later told us that they had been up till 3 am fixing the van.  Most anyone I knows day would have been ruined if their van broke down with no licensed mechanic around for miles.  Instead, Julio made a night of it.

There is definitely a lesson to be learned from people like Orlando and Julio who may not be rich in wealth, but have no shortage of happiness.  When I returned to the US, I could not help but feel guilty for all the times I got upset or frustrated over a minor inconvenience.  Ever since I have done my best to learn from the great people I met and to view life in a similar way.  I feel incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity to experience the Cuban culture and am longing for the day when I may return.

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When I was younger, I was always one to say “Home is where the heart is.” I thought that I could go anywhere in the world and that as long as I was happy I would be okay. But I was wrong. In 2019, I left my hometown of Albuquerque, New Mexico to attend my dream school in Denver, Colorado. Although I was only a six-hour drive from home, I quickly realized that although I was happy in my new home, I missed Albuquerque. When I returned for winter break, I realized just how attached a person could be to a city. As soon as I heard the pilot welcoming us to Albuquerque, the butterflies in my stomach could not manage to be calm. The drive from the airport to my house brought me such calmness and I realized just how homesick I had been for the past 11 weeks. Albuquerque may not seem like much to many people, but for me it means everything. From driving around with my friends, enjoying a Blakes breakfast burrito with a large Dr. Pepper, and even just going on walks on the Sandias, Albuquerque is the place where I feel at home.

I have lived in Albuquerque since I was around 5 years old. Naturally, I have become very familiar with the city. Whenever I’m feeling down, I know a drive can always make me feel better. There’s nothing like driving down Coors Road during the sunset and watching the beautiful mountains turn red. Coors is the longest road in Albuquerque, and if you drive up you get a perfect view of the river and the mountains. The only thing that can make any drive better is some good company. My friends and I love driving around, usually, we’ll stop when we find a place to eat. Sometimes, we just start driving with no specific place in mind and just wander the city. A place is made up of the friendships you have there, and I’m lucky to have some amazing friends in Albuquerque. 

My friends and I at the Albuquerque Downs.

My friends and I on one of our drives where we ended up at Chic-fil-A

Albuquerque also has great food, and that’s another reason to love it. When I first moved to Colorado, everyone kept talking about how great the green chile was here. Coming from New Mexico I had very high expectations, and they were not met at all. My friends and I like to joke that the chile here “tastes like chile, but it’s not spicy.” My favorite meal back home is a Blakes breakfast burrito with extra green sauce. By the time I’m done, I have a full belly and a runny nose. Green chile season in Albuquerque makes me feel a certain type of peace. Going to the local grocery stores and smelling the roasted green chile as soon as you exit your car is an amazing thing. New Mexicans put green chile on everything, and I love that.  There’s no better comfort food for me than some green chile. 

A Blakes breakfast burrito.
PC: klaq.com

In addition to the food and city life in Albuquerque, I also love how close to nature the city is. With beautiful hiking trails such as the petroglyphs and the Sandia Crest, Albuquerque is the perfect place for any nature lover. I’ve never been one for hikes, but the view you get from the top of the Sandias is so breathtaking the 5-hour hike is worth it. Considering you can also drive up, going up there is accessible for anyone. This summer, my boyfriend took me to the Sandia’s to watch a meteor shower and it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. On one side, I could see the entire city, but on the other side, the dark sky was filled with thousands of stars. 

The sunset, the Sandias, and the Rio Grande.

The sad thing is I never really appreciated Albuquerque until I left. When I first got to college, I was homesick for even the smallest things. My first quarter here was the hardest, but it always helped to know how proud I was making my family by being here. I miss Albuquerque dearly, and every time I visit I know to enjoy it to the max. Nothing can make you appreciate home more than leaving it. So next month when I go home for winter break, I will make sure to take everything in and eat a lot of burritos.

Personal

Truckee is a small town found if you head east on highway 80 from Sacramento. In recent years it has become much more popular given its close proximity to the Sacramento area, as well as its connection to Lake Tahoe. When I was eleven my parents invested in a place up in Truckee which has since turned into a big part of all of our lives. My dad and I, in particular, love to spend time up there. The two of us go up as often as we possibly can, and have gotten to spend days at a time adventuring and exploring what the greater Lake Tahoe area has to offer. From snowshoeing along the trail that runs through our backyard, to wake surfing around the lake, to fly fishing in the Little Truckee, we have found that there are endless things to do while up in one of our favorite places.

One story that stands out in my memory, though, was the first snowboard lesson either of us had ever had. I was about twelve, and my dad was, you know — old, but despite the age difference we both came to the same realization. Snowboarding was much harder than either of us had anticipated. As we slid and flopped down the mountain (to be honest — the bunny hill), we were both filling with rage, fed by our intensely competitive natures, while simultaneously laughing every time the other one fell.  After about two hours of  physical and mental exhaustion it was my turn to go down the hill with the instructor. At the bottom, after I had tumbled to a stop, he attempted to confirm with me my dad’s name, which is Pete, by asking , “your dad’s name is Steve, right?” With such an incredible opportunity to prank my dad right in front of me, and a slight part of me wanting to throw him off his game, I eagerly responded, “Yep! Yep it’s Steve!”, so for the rest of the day, I smirked every time my dad grew a confused expression when he suddenly started  being referred to as Steve. I couldn’t wait to tell him that I orchestrated it when we got home. After we had both sworn off  snowboarding for at least the next year and we were in the car driving home, I burst out with laughter exclaiming that I had gotten the instructor to call him Steve all day. Luckily my dad thought my twelve year old sense of humor was pretty funny as well, and we’ve been laughing about that day ever since.

I have many similar memories that stem from spending time with my dad up in Truckee and have set a great foundation for not only our relationship as father and daughter, but as good friends as well. We are very similar people when it comes to our interests, outlooks and emotions and Truckee has provided us with a place that allows our similarly oriented personalities to thrive. With equally dry senses of humor, a deep appreciation for nature, and a need to be competitive, the days my dad and I have been able to spend together in Truckee along with the stories that accompany them have built an awesome friendship that I will always be grateful for. I give credit to the place, but also to the people who inhabit it for the close relationship we have come to develop. From the snowboard instructor we met almost a decade ago, to the people who keep Golden Rotisserie, the home of the world’s best burrito, running, the people of Truckee have improved our lives greatly and I will always appreciate them.