while reading Marquez’s Strange Pilgrims on BART this morning
i got a wave of nostalgia for warm mornings
waking up somewhere far away, someplace i was only beginning to know
sometimes those places were distant geographically
and that was wondrous
sometimes those places were foreign only to my experience
and that was special, too
here, trying so hard to maintain stillness, peace, quiet,
i tried to ignore how new i am
to this neighborhood, this city, this climate,
let all the moments of sudden delight be muted,
not wanting to allow even a version of history to repeat
not allowing myself to be too smitten with this new place
as though it might diminish the hard-fought love for my past home
today, for some reason,
perhaps because of the recent meandering
around old stomping grounds,
my eyes felt as hungry as they’ve ever been
despite feet which are not quite as itchy
i devoured the sight of the East Bay
against the sunpale morning sky
and considered what it would be like
to see this place new again, to remember
that i still get lost winding through the Berkeley Hills,
that there is so much to discover beyond the easy comfort,
that my heart is big enough to love this place, too
narinda heng 