San Francisco
July 13th, 2025
I woke up around 8am and brushed my teeth and showered. My legs ached a bit since the day before I squatted at the gym. But nonetheless, I made the resolution to take myself to the city to simply walk around and explore, rather than sitting in my head all day.
I cracked six eggs into a bowl and whisked them with chopsticks, and poured it into my slightly dirtied stainless steel pan. It takes less than a minute to cook this when you pre-heat the pan, and I've got my barley and sauerkraut sitting ready. I stir the eggs in the pan until they solidify into a milky cream and pour it onto my plate. I would eat this every morning had I more care for myself. Luckily I have the care today.
I set out of my apartment and walked towards the train station. I walked through the normal streets here and there, not paying attention to anything different since not many were roaming the streets. The bay area suburbs likely have church go-ers or Buddhist attendees to warrant an empty Sunday morning, additionally of the atheistic-leaning tech folks I doubt many are the sort to rise early in the morning to visit the downtown area.
The train station is empty. I sit on a bench and call my dad, who doesn't pick up, so I call my mom. We chat a little. She mentions to me to stay safe, and not to become gay when I move to San Francisco. I chastise her; she cannot be saying things like that unless it's in Vietnamese, or I'd be shamed.
I hop on the 10:30am train. It's surprisingly packed and crowded, with jerseys featuring Ohtani. Others are wearing Giants jerseys with names I don't recognize. Ah. The Dodgers and the Giants are playing today. I am surprised at how many Ohtani fans there are of different ethnicities, it seems Ohtani is just the fellow to find fans no matter where. Personally, I am a fan of Ohtani and find him funny.
I find a seat on the train, and I'm reading The Republic by Plato. When I was younger, I felt embarassed reading pretentious literature in public, but now that I am older I do not care what other people think. It's often that I find myself questioning if what I'm doing is right or wrong, and this is just the sort of book to answer that question.
The man next to me gets up to leave for his stop, and a young woman sits next to me next. To be honest, I don't get that much interaction with women any much more, but after recognizing that I did in fact find her attractive and admitting it to myself, I found it much easier to focus back on the book.
When we get to the last stop in San Francisco, we all get up to leave the train. Hundreds of people pour out into the sidewalks. I am flabberghasted and amazed, it has been quite a while, probably since the Porter Robinson concert I went to see in Mountain View, since I had seen that many people in one place. It was a nice feeling being one of so many. I followed the crowds thinking I'd head down 4th street towards Nob Hill.
But when I had realized it I had gone down King, and saw the congregations crowding around Oracle Park. The game was indeed today. I decided that I wanted to see Embarcadero rather than Nob Hill, and decided to go down Townsend Street towards the water.
I took a stroll alongside Embarcadero against the waves of Giants and Dodgers fans. I loved the energy in the air, it appeared that everyone was excited to see the sports game. I saw a milleau of runners along the embarkment, and fellows of all shapes and sizes. It was a sight to see. To my right, the bay waters crashing against the seawall and piers lined the embarkment.
I must have walked for some thirty or hour odd time for I reached the Ferry building. Musicians were playing music, and I stopped to listen to a bedroom pop singer. She had a mellow tone, and she was playing on the street and singing. Nearby, a man sold bubbles for children and was demonstrating it, so the bubbles floated on naturally with the singer and I had a moment of enchantment. A love of life washed over me, as I enjoyed the singing and the bubbles and all the matter. The crashing of waves in the background. There was a music festival there, but I had to visit the neighborhooods I was looking to stay in as a task for myself.
Embarcadero was enchanting. But the clock struck twelve, and that nostalgic Westminister Chime lullaby played when the time hit the hour hand. When I was a boy, my mother bought a clock that would play the same melody. Twelve rings it played then, and twelve rings it plays now. I decided it was high time to head towards Chinatown.