Today marks the forty third day I have lived in my new apartment.
Located in the foggy Sunset District of San Francisco I sit in my kitchen reminiscing. This view of the ocean from Rivera Street did not come easy. All summer long I desperately wrote email after email to the quirky, sophisticated, blunt, and often a little odd ads that I found on craigslist. At least ten emails a day were sent by me. At most, zero answers were ever received. Things were getting desperate. As I scrolled through numerous people renting their couches for $900 a month, their bed's for $400, and their garages for something in between, my sense of hope was slipping six feet under. Every once and a while a glimmer of hope would shine through. Someone would respond, there would be a perfect place, or a perfect roommate, but because of the distance between Salt Lake City and San Francisco I didn't stand a chance to the hundred already at the door with cash in their hands and "winner" on their foreheads.
Five months later I found myself a week before school started and homeless. Shit.
With the help of my Father, Mother, and Sister - we pounded the pavements of every neighborhood in SF. Open houses and interviews were continuous. I could not believe I was auditioning for a place to live. There I was standing in a living room with ten plus other homeless students trying to win the hearts of biology majors from SF State. I was listing my qualities left and right, even making some up. "Yes of course I can cook delicious meals." "Yes I love family game night." "That's my favorite TV show too!" It wasn't working and I was getting emotional.
I think I can honestly say that I cried in every restaurant or cafe we sat down at.
We were running out of time. The long weekend was coming to an end. My Mother and Sister were flying home in the morning. My Father had to change his flight in desperation to find his first born a place to live that wasn't on a bench in Union Square. Time was running out. I had one last open house of the day.
I walked in to the apartment. It was quaint. Quite large in space compared to what I had been used to seeing for a similar offering. The host was a sweet Japanese couple. I felt like we hit it off when we first shook hands, but then again, I felt that way about every person who was offering a solution to my housing problem. Inside, and already filling out applications, were men and women who spoke Japanese with the owner. I didn't stand a chance. A native language is something personal - they were connecting and I was just here to witness it. Tears nearing my eyes as I filled out the application I exchanged a few words about my current educational situation with the land lord. He shared a similar experience with his daughter moving to LA.
I didn't realize it then, but looking back now, that was my key in. Here I was - hopelessly trying to find a house, in order to continue my education, with my father, something that he had just been through.
On the bus ride back to the hotel, feeling hungry and defeated, I received a call offering me the apartment.
I almost screamed and then passed out in the smelly Muni bus bumping down VanNess street.
That night we celebrated and cried. I had a place to live. My Mother and Sister wouldn't get to see it or move me in - something all of us wanted to do together. It was a bittersweet toast over pasta in Little Italy.
Forty three days later I have a new bed, dishes of my own, a few bottles of wine on the shelves for special occasions, a striped shower curtain, and even a walk in closet. I live a few blocks from the beach and can hear the waves roar back and forth against the sands early in the morning when the streets are still. To my left is the beautiful Golden Gate Park and to my right is SF State and The Zoo (sometimes you cannot tell the difference between the two.) It takes me forty minutes to get into the city, but it is an easy ride. I take this time to read books that I usually wouldn't make time to read.
The walls in my apartment have many pictures hanging up, but still a lot of white space. I am going to take this opportunity to let you help me decorate. Send me letters, photos, anything! I am not asking you to go out and buy me an entire collection of Rolling Stone Magazine posters, but rather something that will make me think of you! (Unless you want to buy the posters - i am not stopping you.)
If you do not feel like sending a letter, send a package, or better yet - come visit me! : )
Coming up next: How to deal with the best semester of classes you've ever had.
