Saturday, February 11, 2006

I wrote the following thoughts for my English 305 course at CSUN:

To the casual observer, North Hollywood Park is the typical San Fernando Valley park. It features green pastures, walking trails, sporadic trees, and its share of squirrels. However, when it comes to describing North Hollywood Park, I am not the casual observer. After all, this park is where I spent some of the best moments of my life, but also some of my worst (soccer injuries, among other things). As a result, I cannot spend an hour of reflection in this park without revisiting my past.

The fall of 1997 proved to be more disastrous than I wish to remember. I was an unemployed young man enrolled in only 11 units at Los Angeles Valley College, but somehow I managed to fall behind in school. My failure did not make sense to me. All throughout high school I was classmates with students who were headed to UCLA, Stanford, and USC, yet here I was failing History, Calculus, and Political Science at the local community college. What was I doing wrong? Although I felt I was doing my best, I felt like I was deceiving my parents. There they were, taking care of me beyond the mandatory 18 years of age, and I could not even give them the satisfaction of having as a son a successful part-time college student?! It was only in the evenings that I would forget my shame. I welcomed every sunset of that disastrous semester with my soccer cleats on. North Hollywood Park proved to be much more comforting than my pillow could ever be.

The spring of 1999 was perhaps the best time of my life. On the downside, I was still unemployed, but now I was doing pretty well at school. However, that alone would not have done the trick for me. A woman had to be involved. In fact, one was. Her name was Amber, and although she lived very far away from me, her existence gave a new meaning to mine. I had it all figured out: my days at school, my afternoons with Amber, and a 30 minutes jogging session at the park. That spring, I managed to shed 20-30 pounds without much of an effort. I was too happy a man to be bothered by the strain my body endured. I must have looked quite strange jogging with a prolonged smile on my face, but such is love.

In the summer of that same year, I remember paying a special visit to North Hollywood Park: Amber had sent me a letter and I took it with me to the park. After playing soccer with a small group of mechanics from the nearby Toyota of North Hollywood dealership, I laid my bike on the grass and I laid next to it. I rested my head on my bike’s seat and got as comfortable as I could. It was two past noon and the sky was clear, but not even the ardent sun’s rays would keep me from enjoying this moment. I ripped one side of the envelope and pulled out the letter my first love had mailed to me. I smiled when I realized she had lived up to her promise: she sprayed part of the letter with her favorite perfume and imprinted her lip marks below the body. I removed my eyes from the letter and looked around. Once convinced that no one was watching, I faced the letter again and kissed the same spot on the paper my sweetheart had kissed days before me. Suffice to say, Amber had made of mushiness an essential part of the new me. I took a brief look at the picture she had attached and proceeded to read her letter.

That summer afternoon at the park turned out to be as special as I thought it would be. However, my joy was short-lived; it was interrupted by a premonition. I realized that my relationship with Amber stood little chances of succeeding beyond puppy love. I knew that all I should have done was enjoy it for what it should have been — infatuation. However, my feelings for her were already too intense for me to be able to take a step back. Still laying on the grass, I placed the letter on my chest and I intertwined my fingers as I moved my hands to the top of my head. I closed my eyes and shed a couple of manly tears as I hoped for the best. Little did I know, in the months that followed I was to come face to face with the strongest and cruelest adversary I had ever battled: disillusionment.

A loud noise brings me back to reality. I let my ears guide my eyes and I find the object that has disrupted my moment of pensiveness. I see a white, pluffy dog barking up a tree. I’m not a fan of dogs, but this one has me smiling. It’s jumping around the tree, barking non-stop. The puppy must have seen a squirrel going up the tree, and I could almost hear it screaming, “Get down, you coward!” I attempt to go back to what I was doing prior to hearing the dog’s barking. I turn around and look over the spot where the Toyota of North Hollywood mechanics and I played our last game together. Back then, that portion of the park was free from trees and had very little grass. Nowadays the field is covered with grass and recently-planted trees. In the autumns and springs to come, these young trees will go through a series of cycles of shedding their leaves and growing them back. Before I know it, these trees will be undistinguishable from the much older trees that surround it. I can’t help but realize that nature is a fervent reminder that life goes on.

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