A letter to the city of angels

Oh, Los Angeles. When I first moved here six and a half years ago, I loathed you. I despised your smog, your traffic, your graffiti, and your awful public transportation system. You, in turn, scoffed at my curly red hair, my pale skin, and my aversion to wearing bright colors. We've had our difficulties over the years, but we've come to know and accept each other's quirks and idiosyncrasies. I learned your freeways like the back of my hand, and your sunshine put color in my cheeks and brought joy to my soul. Your traffic became a time of solace, where I could listen to music or make faces at the people in the cars around me. Your smog became just an indication of the borders of the place I tentatively called home.

And then I left you for the hustle and bustle of New York. On my first day there, someone told me I looked "way too approachable for Queens." Everyone there was busy and rude. The street smelled of trash and exhaust from the subways. And then the day came when a rat scurried past my feet on the sidewalk, and a crazy man started following me home from the bus stop (turns out I AM too approachable for Queens). And the worst thing of all was that I had to try three different grocery stores before I found one that carried corn tortillas.

So now I come back to visit you, L.A., and your deliciously thick smog says, "Welcome back, Emma," in its raspy, throaty vibrato. On the train there's a man carrying what I think is a hammer but what turns out to be a collapsible cane (I wouldn't have questioned it even if it was a hammer). There's a girl who can't be more than thirteen with tattoos all over her bare arms and stomach (Does she have parents? And WHERE does she get the money?). A woman with sideburns tells her kid to "SIT DOWN" for the fifth time. But L.A, your strange citizens on this train are endearing to me, rather than repulsive.

Even though "home" will always be Nagano, Japan, you've managed to carve out a little space for yourself in my heart. Someday I'll drive your streets again, Los Angeles. And we'll play our little car flirting games, and go get tacos on Tuesdays, and watch the sun set over the Pacific. I promise.