I heard the screams inside my head telling me to run back to Roseville with Chuck and Jeanine: to just forget about San Francisco entirely. To hide away from life. But I could not turn back at this point - I knew that much was true - even after seeing my filthy unkempt apartment. I entered the musty basement and rode up to the seventh floor while Chuck pushed the cart filled with all the items that would be the only sign of my life before. I twisted the key, and the lock clicked. As I opened the door, I saw the scratched walls, and immediately entered my new room. Black spots stared at me from the matted carpet, worn from years of negligence. The windowsill was covered in an ashy blackness, and opening the drawers to my plastic "dresser," I found black hair and dust. Black seems to have been a theme in the apartment already, leaving me to dreading the blackness of my future in San Francisco. We traversed through the tiny apartment until we found the kitchen. We found a cooked and sliced acorn squash sadly sitting on the counter, dishes waiting to be washed in the sink, and electric burners atop a stove meant to be white at one point. The refrigerator proved no better, filled with Asian market products, dark because of the lack of a lightbulb. Immediately, my thoughts were that I will never be cooking in that place. Enter the bathroom. I see a vanity topped with makeup, beauty products, and toothpaste; and a mirror streaked with water, soap, and other unknown substances. Next to that stood the tub. Mold coated the textured glass doors and the inside was painted in soap scum and yellowness. I dreaded the life I was soon to have here. If home is where the heart is, I think my heart, like the rest of this place, will be blackened too if I continue to live here long enough. I reluctantly set my suitcases on the scummy floor and left, choosing not to think of the moments ahead.
Chuck and I walked in silence to the car, where Jeanine was waiting. I felt like crying, like being swept in my cousin's' arms and taken back home. I am almost twenty years old and I still feel this way. I took several deep breaths and thought to myself, yes, this completely goes against the way I am, staying in an uncomfortable place. But I am coming to realize, now more than ever, that in order to ever be happy, one needs to experience the parts of life that aren't so pretty, and then make them beautiful.
So we moved forward, driving down the crowded streets to Fort Mason, where I would soon be spending the majority of my time. We walked down the path and my heart jumped when I saw the dark green sign (fittingly) labelled "Greens." The doors opened and inside were polished tables made from sanding redwood trees. The high ceilings shined with the light from the wall of windows where the boats on the Marina sat upon the San Francisco Bay. It was apparent that, despite my living situation, I would at least be able to come to work and view the loveliness of the bay, breathing in the clean ocean air, feeling the Delta Breeze wash over me. We were seated and across from me, laid over the huge expanse of wall was a mural, simple in its scenery but showing all the colors of the San Francisco sky: blues, pinks, and greens. I took the menu and read the brunch choices, my mouth tingling with the anticipation of tasting this food, so detailed in its preparation and ingredients. I stupidly ordered an option that did not even require cooking, save the slow-roasted almonds. But my cheese from the Cowgirl Creamery in Point Reyes, Marin County, berries and honeydew, and walnut levain definitely satisfied me. Chuck ordered the Pinnacles Scramble, a Mexican-inspired dish with scrambled eggs, potatoes, chilies, scallions, cheddar, and cilantro, served with corn tortillas and black bean chili, then dolloped with crème fraîche, and sprinkled with pumpkin seeds. Jeanine ordered the Merguez Poached Eggs, with a summer ragout of zucchini, carrots, English peas and corn, onions and garlic, served alongside crispy grilled polenta (with the char-marks and all), and garnished with goat cheese and cilantro. The freshly-squeezed orange juice was by far, the best I've had in my life - tangy, not overly sweet, and concentrated, with fine pulp.
When the check came, I asked our server, Jenna, if Chef Annie or Todd, the kitchen manager, were in. Although she came back with a no, she led me into the kitchen where I met Matt, one of the sous-chefs. I was immediately overjoyed to be witnessing a regular Saturday Brunch at the restaurant, and seeing only smiling faces. Everyone was visibly working hard, but looked happy nonetheless. I have a good feeling about this.
After the glitter of seeing Greens fell to my feet, we walked to the parking lot, bringing me back to my senses about the state of my apartment. As much as I tried to ignore the feeling of disgust pitted in my stomach, it kept creeping up on me, like the goosebumps I felt on my skin as we walked along the chilly Marina. The Bay was brimming with people celebrated the Fourth of July, playing bocci, eating the quintessential hot dogs, and laughing loudly. The fog hung low overhead and I saw the Golden Gate washed with a thin cloud of white.
I stopped at Safeway to pick up (lots of) cleaning equipment, and headed back to the dreadful O'Farrell Street apartment. I kissed goodbye to Chuck and Jeanine, thanking them over and over for their support and hospitality, and got to work. Armed with purple rubber gloves, Method multi-purpose spray, and a roll of paper towels, I got to work, scrubbing, wiping, and scrubbing again. Organizing my clothes, I folded everything into neat packages, and lining up my shoes in the closet. The Buddhist goddess of love and compassion I hung carefully on the wall, along with my window hanging woven with bright yellow, orange, red, and green. My bed was dressed with new sheets covered in botanical leaves and blankets. This room began to look more like a place of comfort rather than horror.
I then met my roommates, three out of four sweet Korean girls. As they continued talking to me, I felt much better and some of my fears were silenced. As I stood evaluating the work I did, I realized that I completed a huge feat in the self-progress. I was able to persevere through the situation I was given. By no means is this place perfect, but now it is a haven for me. And that will have to do for the time being.
Chuck and I walked in silence to the car, where Jeanine was waiting. I felt like crying, like being swept in my cousin's' arms and taken back home. I am almost twenty years old and I still feel this way. I took several deep breaths and thought to myself, yes, this completely goes against the way I am, staying in an uncomfortable place. But I am coming to realize, now more than ever, that in order to ever be happy, one needs to experience the parts of life that aren't so pretty, and then make them beautiful.
So we moved forward, driving down the crowded streets to Fort Mason, where I would soon be spending the majority of my time. We walked down the path and my heart jumped when I saw the dark green sign (fittingly) labelled "Greens." The doors opened and inside were polished tables made from sanding redwood trees. The high ceilings shined with the light from the wall of windows where the boats on the Marina sat upon the San Francisco Bay. It was apparent that, despite my living situation, I would at least be able to come to work and view the loveliness of the bay, breathing in the clean ocean air, feeling the Delta Breeze wash over me. We were seated and across from me, laid over the huge expanse of wall was a mural, simple in its scenery but showing all the colors of the San Francisco sky: blues, pinks, and greens. I took the menu and read the brunch choices, my mouth tingling with the anticipation of tasting this food, so detailed in its preparation and ingredients. I stupidly ordered an option that did not even require cooking, save the slow-roasted almonds. But my cheese from the Cowgirl Creamery in Point Reyes, Marin County, berries and honeydew, and walnut levain definitely satisfied me. Chuck ordered the Pinnacles Scramble, a Mexican-inspired dish with scrambled eggs, potatoes, chilies, scallions, cheddar, and cilantro, served with corn tortillas and black bean chili, then dolloped with crème fraîche, and sprinkled with pumpkin seeds. Jeanine ordered the Merguez Poached Eggs, with a summer ragout of zucchini, carrots, English peas and corn, onions and garlic, served alongside crispy grilled polenta (with the char-marks and all), and garnished with goat cheese and cilantro. The freshly-squeezed orange juice was by far, the best I've had in my life - tangy, not overly sweet, and concentrated, with fine pulp.
When the check came, I asked our server, Jenna, if Chef Annie or Todd, the kitchen manager, were in. Although she came back with a no, she led me into the kitchen where I met Matt, one of the sous-chefs. I was immediately overjoyed to be witnessing a regular Saturday Brunch at the restaurant, and seeing only smiling faces. Everyone was visibly working hard, but looked happy nonetheless. I have a good feeling about this.
After the glitter of seeing Greens fell to my feet, we walked to the parking lot, bringing me back to my senses about the state of my apartment. As much as I tried to ignore the feeling of disgust pitted in my stomach, it kept creeping up on me, like the goosebumps I felt on my skin as we walked along the chilly Marina. The Bay was brimming with people celebrated the Fourth of July, playing bocci, eating the quintessential hot dogs, and laughing loudly. The fog hung low overhead and I saw the Golden Gate washed with a thin cloud of white.
I stopped at Safeway to pick up (lots of) cleaning equipment, and headed back to the dreadful O'Farrell Street apartment. I kissed goodbye to Chuck and Jeanine, thanking them over and over for their support and hospitality, and got to work. Armed with purple rubber gloves, Method multi-purpose spray, and a roll of paper towels, I got to work, scrubbing, wiping, and scrubbing again. Organizing my clothes, I folded everything into neat packages, and lining up my shoes in the closet. The Buddhist goddess of love and compassion I hung carefully on the wall, along with my window hanging woven with bright yellow, orange, red, and green. My bed was dressed with new sheets covered in botanical leaves and blankets. This room began to look more like a place of comfort rather than horror.
I then met my roommates, three out of four sweet Korean girls. As they continued talking to me, I felt much better and some of my fears were silenced. As I stood evaluating the work I did, I realized that I completed a huge feat in the self-progress. I was able to persevere through the situation I was given. By no means is this place perfect, but now it is a haven for me. And that will have to do for the time being.