The Pier Is My Home

The thick grey fog made seeing anything beyond the pier impossible. The only indication that there was anything left beyond the fog was the faint blink of the Alcatraz spotlight. The cold rain sprinkled down onto the faded wood of the pier, making spots of darker brown appear. To most this wouldn’t seem like a very pleasant place to spend their free time. Walking alone down to the water to stare blankly at the ominous mist that had rolled in, but to me this is where I feel most at home. This is where I went when I needed to think, when I needed not to think, whatever mood I was in, this is where I went. While my fondest memories of this place include sunshine and neon colored windbreakers, today I sit in the fog wearing no color at all. I feel numb sitting on the cold wood steps next to the sea lions. I remember sitting on this same step when I was younger, wearing shorts and a pink and purple windbreaker, pigtails blowing in the wind plastering most of the hair to my snotty face. The brisk spring wind was making my nose run, but that wasn’t going to prevent me from enjoying the trip to San Francisco with my mom. It surprised me how vividly I remembered that day with my mom even though it’s been years since I’ve been back. Leaving Massachusetts for school never felt like I was leaving home. A physical home maybe, a house, but not a home. I feel far more at home here on this cold and desolate pier sitting by myself at night, than I do back east. My happiest memories are here, not all in San Francisco, but here in California. I live in a dorm with strangers and I feel more at home here than I do back with my family. The only thing I left behind is a physical house, not a home. A home is more of a feeling, a state of being. A home is where you are happiest, where you have memories, where you live. A house is where you stay so that you aren’t sleeping outside. It’s a covering, but not a home. Sure sometimes I miss my family, but it’s not the same family from my memories here. My mom isn’t the same as she was back when those memories were created. There are four more people that have been added to what used to be; they live in the house back east. Although sitting in the wet and cold rain isn’t what most people would like to be doing, this is where I feel at home. This is where I can relive those memories and pretend like they’re still happening, I can pretend that that life still goes on for the laughing little girl in the pigtails and the pink and purple windbreaker.