Where Time Freezes

Call me a romantic, but I missed seeing the stars of my hometown. You don't get many stars in the city - the only star I see on a constant is the sun; even so, I make a habit not to stare at it because, you know, that's kind of a heath hazard. Yet, as my eyes glide over the black horizon of the ocean as I'm parked at the Rock, the lights of Cayucos houses seen to glimmer - much like these small-town stars. I suppose it's because I'm not wearing my glasses (of which, I consciously neglect), but these lights are like the rippling sheen of sunlight on water. These lights are like tears rolling down one's face. Realizing this, I've come to realize that home is where time freezes.

I returned from college just this last Friday, mostly because I wanted to see my family; along the way, I managed to watch my former high school's losing homecoming game. Maybe it's a sign, I don't know.

I only told a few people that I was back because I felt that my visit home wasn't that important regarding others. This sounds wrong and seems like I'm rejecting my old friends, but weighing in the fact that lives are continuing and kindled friendships aren't as important nowadays compared to the fast-track of living in general, I felt that there was no need to waste others' time with mine. We've all split our ways, traveled to distant places on the map and rerooted our lives to adhere to our new surroundings. Don't worry about it - we'll all be back for Thanksgiving and Christmas; this won't be the last time you'll have a chance to see me.

However, home really is where time freezes. I'm back at the same old pink house, with the same old half-asphalt, half-dirt street. Fog is always prominent towards the morning and night, yet the clouds turn grapefruit pink over the bay as the sun sets. Despite one major difference - an in-the-process renovation of the demolished Taco Bell on Main - I'm back in the same old town. The sea breeze of Morro Bay smells of fish and harbor, and the roads of Los Osos still have no street lights. Sure, there are subtle differences here and there (especially what I've noticed was an increase of traffic in SLO), but the essence is the same. For that I'm grateful, because when I return from the city, where people are living on the street to survive, taxi cabs don't give a damn if they run red lights, and police sirens are heard at least on a two-hour interval, I need to revel in that forgotten peace I had grew up with. The sound of the beach, a slow leisurely life - my life is put on hold. I feel young again, younger than I have ever felt.

Do I really look like a college student? Could I still pass off as a high schooler? In most cases I think not. However, I still seem to have that minor mind-set that I am, and could. But, I'd never want to go back. That's why returning home is so great - laying back in my old bed, watching the TV that has off colors and looks 3D seems to take years off of my eighteen year old life; I feel seventeen all over again...oh, that was a good year.

Being back home makes me feel so inexplicably loved. Just all around I'm blessed to have so many people care for me. For that, I'm grateful to God, to everyone. I feel safe to say that my roommates like me, maybe even love me - and I wonder, What exactly is in my personality that makes others respect me? Makes others want me to stay with them, to hang out with them, to laugh and joke and live with them? It's a fantastic feeling because despite the fact that I had to work back from the very bottom of the chain to create some type of bearings for myself in an unknown territory, I'm still wanted by others. And I can guarantee this - I can be the best friend you will ever have, if you just give me the chance. But, that's a downfall in itself, because I'm vulnerable to getting used and abused. Life is always a toss-up.

Friendships change, but family stays the same. Buildings are rebuilt, demolished, rectified and dilapidated - it's all just a metaphor. The blanket of safety is cast over my childhood, and I'm sure as long as I return every-so-often, it'll stay the same. If I change, so be it - but I'll always regress as soon as I step through my front door.