I have always been a fan of California. Besides the obvious reasons: nice weather, beautiful landscapes, beaches, etc., my love for California runs much deeper than her pretty shoreline.
Since I was 7 years old, I used to tell my mother that I was “meant to live in California.” My mother would laugh at me and say “How do you know that, Gloria?” At the time, I couldn’t really answer her, as I had never set foot in the state, but I just knew it my heart it was where I was “meant to be.”
As I grew older, and I was finally able to go to California (I was 19 the first time), I’ll never forget the feeling I had when my ex-boyfriend and I drove over the Oregon/California border and I saw that “Welcome to California” sign on the side of the road. I made him pull over so he could take a picture of me, beaming, under it. I still have that photograph, and every time I take a look at it, I get the same feeling in my heart.
While I’ve always liked Northern California (it’s GORGEOUS, and SF is a lot like NYC), when I first arrived in Los Angeles, my heart was racing out of my chest. I had felt like I was “home.” It was the weirdest thing, and could never properly be explained. It was like my fate was waiting there for me. I come to Southern California almost 5-6 times per year, and every single time I leave, I cry my heart out.
When I turned 21, I found out that I had a half-brother who grew up in LA. I was estranged from my biological father and had no clue that I had 3 other siblings floating around the country. When I found out about my brother Robert, I hopped on a plane and headed straight for LA to meet him. When I met him, we had never even seen a picture of each other, but knew each other at the airport. CRAZY. It was like we were exactly the same person, but from different sides of the country. We went through a phase after that, and we still kind of joke about it, that we are twins separated at birth and our mothers are lying to us. Neither of us had a birth certificate, or a social security card until we were 20. Our mothers were best friends 20 years prior and had a horrible falling out. His mom raised him in Los Angeles, and my mother took off for Hawaii and then NYC. Needless to say, since that first meeting 17 years ago, my brother and I are VERY tight.
The 6 years ago, my very best friend, Lenin, moved from NYC to Southern California. I was so sad and not just because I was losing him, but because he was finally doing what he wanted to do, but without me! He and his wife got in the car and drove away and have not looked back since.
In short, I KNOW there is something amazing, incredible and awesome here for me. I have been feeling that since I am a wee beastie. My husband loves NYC and refuses to leave, hence why I am still living in this hellhole called NYC, but the time is coming, my friends. I am going to say fuck all, take all of my money and move to Southern California, finish that god damned novel, and live the life I am supposed to be living. I’m tired of putting my own dreams, needs and hopes last. It’s about time that I take care of ME, and stop worrying about what my husband wants, what my family wants, etc. You only get one life, and you’d better ride that shit until the wheels fall off!
Speaking of wheels, I am off to skate practice now! WooooooHoooooooooo.
My first time on the West Coast. Mt St. Helen’s, Washington
Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, CA
My brother Robert – when we first met
The “ex” I mentioned, Colin. San Francisco, CA
dimentra dot com 