Shine

Mom told me she chose this apartment because of the sunlight. “The apartment faces south, so light will always come in at the right times,” she would always say. And she's right, when I would turn the corner out of the hallway around noon, light pours through the patio French doors, engulfing the living room. I don’t blame her for wanting all these rays—anybody rebuilding a shredded life wouldn’t mind it.

But before anybody ever steps foot in this dwelling of light, they see a salmon colored building, standing as stout as a redwood on the decline of a steep hill. Smells of grease from the fast food joint and sounds of power tools at the repair shop at the foot of the hill creep their way up over the roar of the rush hour traffic, creating hectic Friday afternoons. But this isn’t an urban wasteland. This is home.

A brief walk through the lobby and a short elevator ride up, and I would step into the dimly lit hallway of the first floor, with small light fixtures every door down and shadows surreptitiously creeping along its walls. A left turn at the dead end in the back of the ominous hallway comes with the sight of an austere white door, energized with a small hanging Chinese ornament of several modest gold trimmed, bright red firecrackers.

A few strides through the doors, and with it, the still silence of a simple home, broken occasionally by the splashes of a fish tank and spikes of noise from the busy street outside. Passing by the open kitchen, aromas of delectable food greet me as I make my way to the spacious living room. Here, I recall moments of pain and sorrow, moments that try deterring me from an idea of a home. But in the end, those trifles never win out. A slow descent into the couch, and I allow myself to enjoy the sun.

(from a year ago. weird to look back on how I wrote, how I looked at things.)