City of Roses | Reflections from Pasadena’s Streets

Home for the holidays.

I grew up living in apartments. We officially moved to Pasadena after the LA Uprising when I was eight years old.

Heat rising brought us out to play. Riding our bikes through the city of roses. The smell of fresh-cut grass and rays of sunshine. Palm trees and ice cream trucks. At times, childhood didn’t seem so rough.

Home is remembering all the streets I hung out on. The homes of friends I’ve been in. We walked, took the free shuttle, and learned the bus line.

It’s hiding at coffee shops to study around the city when I come home to visit from college. And now, when I visit, I must do work and graduate school homework.

Seeing the “Fuck You” tattooed on the cement in front of my mother’s apartment complex. I wonder when hipsters started moving into the neighborhood and whether they know the Bloods live across the street. I bet they don’t walk around at night. Pasadena looks glamorous during the day, but the city shows up at night.

It’s not leaving without a breakfast burrito from Lucky Boy or tacos from La Estrella. More importantly, it’s a short amount of concentrated love from my city before I head back to the Bay.

— Journal #25 | Written November 27, 2017

“But every time I felt that was that, it called me right back.” — Jay Z

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