SEPT. 17 2018: All About the Past and the Present Except for the Future.

Analyzing emotions of the past

 Investigative journalism skills at it's finest.

The picture was taken by @vkarinaxo

 By yours truly, Karla. 

"A mile away

Several miles away

Many miles away.

Yet, it's all the same.

Family intact.

Fears remain.

Doubts unchanged.

Why do I keep running away?

If I'm here, there and over there.

Everything is the same."

- KL 6/9/17

After hanging out with my "gal pals" on a Saturday evening. 

I dragged my body inside the car which I have driven since the age of 17.

The four-door black Fiat with war wounds from unseen poles in parking structures is home to the memories of high school to the present day.

Oliver, the three-year-old mom car, had housed the various trips I'd taken from Los Angeles to San Francisco. 

Memories of friendships and romantic partners that would raise the volume of their choice of music. 

The various drink spills and sad tear spills of heartbreaks, stress, and depression... all happened

in this car that I entered that humid Saturday night.

A photo of @arleenjmz and I 

It blows my mind when I think of my car as a home but it really is the only stable factor that has been with me in the hard times of adulthood.

My mind started racing at this thought of stability. 

Tears started accumulating.

In the background, I heard a muffled song playing by Dreamgirls called "Stranger Feelings."

My glossy eyes swelled up and the eye sockets became overwhelmed.

The humidity wasn't the only moisture that had surfaced on my skin at that moment.

I panicked and went manic about an individual that had entered my life when I lived in San Francisco as I shed tears.

This person and I had briefly seen each other. He amused me in a distinct way.  Not only because he went to the openly liberal university campus, UC Berkley. 

This individual didn't faze his quirkiness. He loved ASMR and succulents in different handmade pottery. 

It was admirable.

The thing that infatuated me the most was the connection he had with me about discussing social issues especially 

homelessness.

This English major college student talked about his financial issue with me the first night we met up in-person. 

He even discussed the issue of his roommates being verbally abusive and disallowing personal space in the

compact off-campus dorm. 

In the midst of the conversation, I was flattered and felt overwhelmed by the comfortable feeling this person had 

radiated to me. 

To which I stood up, said my goodbyes, and never contacted them again.

I was scared to gain a connection far more than I needed at that moment. 

I was in the process of moving to Los Angeles and didn't want a long distance relationship.

"See you walking through my dreams so fast, so fast
And I don't know your name, but it's fine
Oh, it's fine"

- Dream Girls, "Stranger Feelings"

Two years later, I'm sitting in the car panicking about this person. 

The young restless Saturday night involved investigative efforts in finding a way to contact this person.

I needed to know he was okay and find out if he was homeless. 

How was I able to help him find resources?

The search continued after reading published pieces by this person through UC Berkeley's daily

newsletter. 

I traced my eyes to the dim iPhone screen. 

In white bold numbers, the screen read: 5am.

At this point, I knew that I had entered the long-awaited bipolar manic phase which appears in my life

after extensive downhill depressing emotions. 

My eyes go back to the white screen of my laptop. I find a trace of him on Facebook.

He was active on the platform and seen to be with a partner.

Creases start to form around my lips and the bags under my eyes start to fold.

He is safe, I thought to myself.