I recently had the chance to go back “home” again, to visit the curb which my friends and I shared our multitude of experiences. Unlike before, the atmosphere of the mini-plaza was completely different, yet the same nostalgic feeling remained with me as my friends and I sat ourselves on the hard, familiar, concrete.
My friends and I decided to visit the curb last Friday; we were bored, thirsty, and adventurous. The sun had already set and the moon rose over us like a cobra. Having no ride – but preferring the journey – we walked from my house to the mini-plaza which all of us were familiar with. On the way we talked of space and the journey upwards in the future, which mirrored our journey to the curb. Home was the great unknown and home would be the curb. As we arrived, the lady who owned the shop still had her warm, comforting smile and we all ordered our drinks; Bryan and I taro, Brandon green apple. I also grabbed two of her homemade peanut candies, which reminded me of powdery, chewy Reese’s. We finally rested our tired legs on the curb; it still kept its homely feeling: hard but humbling. With the abandoned farmer’s market still dark and empty and eerie on my right and the CVS with its glowing, bright logo down to the left of the plaza, my friends and I knew we were where we belonged. The same talks we had before we had again that Friday evening, all of us reminiscing and joking about how life has changed and how much time has passed since we left the curb of homage. I found it so interesting how although we didn’t arrive in the afternoon as usual, the night sky only enhanced the experience, as everything was quieter, brighter, more personal. Though our stay wasn’t nearly as long as I wanted it to be, the return to curb was the return of my friends and me to a simpler time, a return to home.