Judith

At Central Coffee Tea & Spice
On Hayes
Monday afternoon

***

In 1996 I arrived as a young European tourist to stay indefinitely, to see how things go out there in California. And they did go. Everything from there on is now part of my history and created in this town. I am realizing more and more why I live here.

San Francisco is the town that has allowed me to flow through all my live changes, providing me with endless opportunities to try new things, grow and emerge out of my shell at every stage in my live. It is the town that catches me when I fall and just when I lose sight of direction waves me into consciousness with its absolute beauty and from there offers the next opportunity, the next chapter.

This is the city in which I moved through several stages in my personal life with relationships beginning and ending, picking up my tears on the local park bench or letting my hair get brushed with a stroke of wind during a long embrace at the beach. This is the city in which I was once arrived as an illegal alien and I felt for the first time what it meant to fight for something that you truly want and become a legal resident to claim and hold my entitlement to be one with this town.

This is the city who honored me with titles such as a nanny, a bar tender, a student, an artist, a dancer, a single individual, a woman, a foreigner, a manager, a divorcee and a unique individual. This is the city in which I learned what it meant to say good bye over and over again when friends move away, leaving you behind in the arms of the city to find myself at a local bar and the next story sitting near you on the bar stool if you just listen closely enough. This is the city in which I was a poi spinner for one moment and a burlesque dancer for another, a pottery maker for about second and an acting student forever. This is the city in which I got a piercing and danced to break beats into Burning Man and back.

This is the city in which I went from poor to rich and back down into current unemployment while all along feeling a never changing level of wealth due to calming strokes of happiness by the endless buzzing town corners. This is the city in which I discovered my first grey hair and found myself looking at strollers wondering what the motherly hands of the city would offer to me. This is the city that keeps me just scared enough to move and evolve up and out into the unknown.

This is the city that asks me to recommit my relationship daily when forcing me into a mind battle between the reasons for staying or following my home sick heart to be with my family who lives far away - the city always wins.

***

You can see the rest of Judith's photo shoot here.

Judith's blog is here.

Luke

On a rooftop off of Post Street
The Tenderloin
Monday afternoon

***

I can tell you the exact place and moment when I first said I was going to move to San Francisco.

My friend's and I had taken the trip from Sacramento to San Francisco, and (as tourists) of course our first stop had to be Pier 39 and Fisherman's Wharf. After getting clam chowder in a bread bowl from Guardino's, we snagged some empty tables outside of Castagnolia's. Looking up Jones St. toward Russian Hill, that was my moment.

That was the infatuation. The love of San Francisco came from seeing the people who inhabit it. The idealist's and the dreamers. The artists and the musicians and the writers, and even the waiters like me. The people who envisioned a better world, a world that was possible within our little city.

I went to Africa on a mission trip the summer after my freshman year of college, and after that eye-opener I could no longer accept the cookie-cutter lifestyle of the Sacramento suburb I was living in at the time. It was fake. I needed authentic.

San Francisco was authentic.

Growing up as a Christian, you find lots of people who are anything but authentic. I didn't want to be a fake Christian, and after going to Africa, I knew I had to do something that mattered with my life.

One amazing thing about San Francisco is that it has more non-profits than any other city in the nation. It has people who care. Who dream. I wanted to be like the people in San Francisco. I wanted to dream, to do things that mattered.

One thing that separated San Francisco from other places that I've lived is that in other places, if you share an idea with someone, they'll give you all the reasons why it won't work. They'll shoot you down more often than not.

In San Francisco, when you share an idea with someone, more often then not they are excited. People comment on how unique or original an idea may be. They ask what they can do to help.

I'm at a point where I'm asking you to help me. You see I'm committed to being one of those dreamers who do things that matter. I've been accepted to an internship in Belize, which will give me the chance to learn and grow, not only as a Christian, but as someone who cares about our world and our city. I know there are others out there with these same cares. I've seen you and I've met you, and you're what makes this city what it is.

I don't want to ask for your money, but I need to. So I want to give something back. My 1hundredproject gives me the chance to give something back to you. I'm going to ask for $100, but I want to make your trouble worthwhile. I want to make your life easier, and hopefully you can get to know me a little bit along the way. Allow me to help you with something. I'll paint your garage, babysit your dog, even take your daughter to homecoming. I might be asking for your money, I'm desperate to show why I hope you find me worth it.

1hundredproject is my idea to help make my dream of going to Belize a reality. I'd love for you to check out my idea, and maybe tell me some of yours, and maybe together all of us dreamers can make a better city and a better world.

***

You can see the rest of Luke's photo shoot here.

Luke's blog is http://lspray.wordpress.com/

and his Belize project is http://1hundredproject.wordpress.com/

Megahn

In a hallway
Somewhere in NOPA
Sunday morning

***

There was a fullness of life I felt happening here one cold, wet, December trip several years ago. I was visiting Lauren, my muse and oldest best friend who moved to the city directly after finishing her undergrad at UVA. I was a wide-eyed girl from North Carolina on my first trip to California. A venture which marked my second time being west of the Mississippi River.

I made that trip to San Francisco to understand why (oh why!) my beloved best friend ditched our post-college plans of living together in New York City for this far out city by the bay. Before graduation, she called me in Raleigh, NC, asking and encouraging me to join her. "So what do you think about San Francisco?" Lauren finally says. My full and instant reply was, "I think it's in California."

The West Coast was a foreign concept to me. More than that, I had a mother recovering from a life-threatening disease and my only grandmother faced serious health issues as well. Lauren moved west without me, but with a promise that I would visit as soon as I could. A few months later she was settled into her dark and cozy Pacific Heights attic apartment, and I made good on my promise.

My 10-day stay spanned New Year's Eve, allowing Lauren and I to celebrate our 24th birthdays together and take advantage of some treasured time off from our newly acquired jobs. It rained every day of that trip. Getting around was messy and difficult. The four steep flights of stairs up to her apartment were a real kick in the ass at the end of our long cold days touring the city. I was uncomfortable and unsure of myself in this new place... feelings with which I was not familiar. The change was invigorating. I felt alive.

I went back to North Carolina. I took with me a larger view of my country and a knowledge that one day, I would live in San Francisco.

Three years later, my appetite was whet for change and challenge. The seed planted during that cold, wet, December visit, came to its fruition in the form of a west-bound cross country trip in the Spring of 2008. I had my dog, a great resume, and a friend with a futon in San Francisco.

Now I live here, San Francisco. I still feel uncomfortable and unsure of myself at times, as the city continues to stretch me and force me to grow. But I am living the dream of my imagined life. This life is full of challenging work, in a city ripe with possibilities, surrounded by an ever expanding band of friends and colleagues that challenge me to become my best self.

***

You can see the rest of Megahn's photo shoot here.

A related post using one of Megahn's photos can be read on CALIBER.

You can find Megahn here on tumblr: http://goldenmeg.tumblr.com/
and here on Twitter: http://twitter.com/goldenmeg

Nani

Lilac Alley
The Mission
Tuesday afternoon

***

The City that I Love
June 25, 2009

Man in cream colored suit, pedaling away
one hand carrying a bouquet of stargazers.

Ten-week old soft puppy
Hello, welcome to the world
You are so golden.

A song I, yes, have heard before
Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown.

Waiting in line at the Castro theater
someone behind me regretting
jalapeños in his sandwich.

A gray night in June.
I came here eleven summers ago.
My heart is now open
where two cable cars
can pass each other in opposite directions.
No, I don’t mind contradiction at all.

Journal Entry: September 23, 2008

I walk home from the Castro station; I take 17th street as usual. I appreciate the outside air – windless and calm. There is a young woman, a high school girl in uniform, who starts singing once she gets off the train. She starts singing like an opera singer and walks energetically. I follow behind her, to get a feel of her world – vibrating, loud, confident.

***

You can see the rest of Nani's photo shoot here.

Nani's blog: http://www.allthiseveryday.blogspot.com/

And the website of where she works: http://asianamericanmedia.org/

Helene

Municipal Pier
The Marina
Friday morning

***

San Francisco was the first American city my father landed in from China in the late 1970s. After swimming from mainland China to Hong Kong, he earned enough money to make it to the United States; he came here on a mission to provide a better life for his growing family. San Francisco was just one piece of the journey, but it was the first place where he was able to experience American life, albeit in Chinatown.

I could have been born in San Francisco, but I wasn’t. After my father left San Francisco, he traveled around the United States a little more until he found a place to call home: Virginia. I was born there in Virginia, but perhaps my pull to move to San Francisco had always been in my blood. When I initially decided to move to San Francisco, I was drawn more by a promised job than anything else—my father had a friend here who was willing to give me a job straight after university. Although that offer ended up falling through, I still felt determined to move to San Francisco after graduation. At that point in time, I thought of San Francisco as just a different place to wait out the years—but, as time has shown me, the city has definitely been more than that.

What I’ve discovered over the course of these past two years is a lot, including most importantly, my passion for writing. I guess you can say I had my own kind of “coming out” in the sense that I let my hidden passion for writing become part of my public, professional life. I had buried my love for writing over the years—throughout school, I thought that people would look down on me when I said I wanted to be an artist or a writer. So I covered up these thoughts of mine and went on studying other subjects in order to feel accepted by others.

I stopped writing creatively for a long time until I moved out to San Francisco. Here, somehow, I have found myself drawn to writing more than anywhere else I’ve been—in the past two years since living in San Francisco, I have written three novels and am currently working on my fourth. Some of these novels were completed during the month of November, for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), which I have to thank for helping me find my passion once again.

Although I have yet to officially publish my novels, just being in San Francisco has helped me re-awaken that looming giant within me. The city, the area, screams of the artistic vibe that infuses into my soul and mind. Everywhere I turn, there’s something to appreciate, something to perhaps tack onto a future storyline.

Living in San Francisco has also heightened my sense of culture and diversity by enjoying the different foods and languages that surround me on a daily basis. I have met some amazing people here from all walks of life whom I would have never met if I hadn’t moved here. Perhaps my journey to San Francisco has been more or less similar to my father’s: trying to find a better life for myself and my future.

***

You can see the rest of Helene's photo shoot here.

Helene's website: http://www.helenekwong.com/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/hkwong/
Scribd: http://www.scribd.com/helenekwong
Blog: http://helenekwong.blogspot.com/

Clare

Outside Pirate Cat Radio Cafe
21st Street, The Mission
Saturday morning

***

Mills College in Oakland was the only college located outside the Midwest I applied to, so naturally I chose it above all others. I left my hometown of Minneapolis in 1996 at the age of seventeen, arriving to pursue my degree and the ultimate education: living in the Bay Area. During those four years I interned with the Harvey Milk Institute on Castro Street under the guidance of the organization’s executive director, Kevin Schaub.

One July afternoon while we were out for a smoke on the steps, Kevin pointed out a mural of Harvey Milk I hadn’t noticed before, though it was directly across the street from our office. The portrait (by Josef Norris, 1998) is partially shadowed by a luscious tree. It is as though Harvey is looking down on the shop, bemused, checking in on business. The mural also includes Milk’s message, You’ve gotta give ‘em hope! “That was Harvey’s camera shop right down there,” Kevin told me, pointing to the storefront below. Less than a week later I finished reading the biography of Harvey Milk in tears on the 22.

The following spring on Easter Sunday morning, my interning duties led me to a street fair hosted by HMI and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. I arrived thinking I’d be manning the HMI booth, but first Kevin tasked me with providing general support to the Sisters in their dressing room. All morning I mixed cocktails, zipped dresses, pinned hats, buckled shoes, and fetched accessories. I was harshly, and quite fairly, admonished by several Sisters after I mistakenly referred to one as a “he” – even though the Sister in question was dressed as the Pope. “We’re all ‘she’ when we’re in drag, honey.” They were gossipy and bossy, and I was becoming increasingly cranky from the task of perpetually indulging the Sisters rather than the other way around. But after all the fuss was over, each Sister emerged quite suddenly, full of grace, into the sunshine, beautiful with their painted faces, hats adorned with butterflies and silk roses, and delighted the gathering crowds the way they do.

I returned to Minneapolis in 2000 and stayed for years. I visited the Bay Area a couple of times a year, and missed it dearly. But there in Minneapolis, a wintry city of fortitude, I fell in love, got married, went back to school, learned how to cook, sang in a band, gardened, made lifelong friends, loved my work.

And still, after all that, when the opportunity arose to move back to the Bay Area, the answer was yes.

Rediscovering the city now is resonating. One can never be nineteen again, so it must be the city itself, ringing.

Today I pursue the education in experience that is doing research with ISKME, and living here in the deep of the Mission.

***

You can see the rest of Clare's photo shoot here.

Clare is a Research Associate at the Institute for the Study of Knowledge Management in Education (ISKME): http://www.iskme.org/ http://www.bigideasfest.org/

Follow Clare at http://twitter.com/clarebear

Margaret

Alta Plaza Park

Pacific Heights
Tuesday afternoon

***

When I twelve I made a plan. I was going to be a writer and I was going to live in San Francisco. As far as plans for twelve year old girls who love books go, it was not an especially original sort of plan. I didn’t really know much about San Francisco literary culture or history, but I had a sense and I made the plan and, in theory, this plan has sort of worked out. I live in San Francisco, now, and I study creative writing and when I go home and my best friend reminds me, hey, you’re doing what you always said you were doing! I go with it. It feels good to have that sense of accomplishment, that sense that twelve year old me was really onto something, despite her poofy hair and leggings.

Only, it turns out that living in San Francisco and trying to be a writer is not nearly as romantic as it sounds. First of all, the muse doesn’t automatically show up just because I settle myself into a chair at a coffee shop with my laptop, even though I’m pretty sure that before I came, I secretly believed this would happen. Also, it turns out that even when you are living the life your youthful self imagined, you still have bad hair days, you still miss your family and you don’t great a break on the crazy rent your youthful self conveniently never factored into the equation.

Which is all to say, sometimes I don't feel as though I live in San Francisco. Even in quintessential San Francisco moments I can be caught off guard, wondering suddenly if it is really me there on Muni, if this really is San Francisco or if I will, at some point, wake up and walk out of my apartment and find the city I imagined I knew before I got here.

And the cool thing about all of this? I don't think I'm alone in this experience, or that any two people really know the same San Francisco. In a city of transplants, almost everyone has this story. It becomes a ritual, a familiar moment in every introduction. We trade our San Francisco origin stories along with our names and neighborhoods. We draw out the paths that led us here. Even the ones who have been here all along, the ones born near the bay, can tell a story about leaving and returning, or the moment they knew they couldn't go.

***

You can see the rest of Margaret's photo shoot here.

Margaret's website is here.