Good Morning Los Angeles

Good morning Los Angeles, I love you today.

For the first time ever I see a cloudy, chilly Los Angeles morning. It seems kinder and less menacing than the usual harsh sunny Los Angeles mornings. It makes me feel good and full of hope. I can do this. I know I can do this.

I like LA for all its worth. It is full of diversity and thriving with life. The downtown area is enchanting and fun, while our little neighborhood is full with families and children's laughter can be heard from the alleyway on sunny afternoons. It is far more alive than any other cities in US that I have ever been to, and so far, far more exciting. There are always new things to do, new museums to visit, new adventures to experienced; it is a place where taking home your pizza in whole is an adventure in itself. But I am so far from all of those. Even though we would roam the city now and then, I stayed home most of the time trying to write and get my life in order. Slowly but sure the loneliness is killing me, and as now I have give up full time writing and focus on trying to get a job instead. I have no friends here that I can talk with in daily basis, and I barely meet anyone except when I go out for an errand. The only way I can be a part of the community again is to join one, yet I am struggling to do so. A job would be an ideal gateway to the community, but I have been wallowing in despair instead. 

I have always seen myself as the dream maker, and I love it. I lured and wowed my clients, promising them a slice of heaven and delivering that promise to them. All of these were achieved with minimal tools/equipment, and with a carte blanche from my superior. I can do whatever I want to do to ensure the customer's satisfaction, so I did. It was creative, it was challenging, it was fun. Yet here in LA, I have yet to see any job vacancy that came even close to what I did back home. Everything seemed so dull and repetitive; and I can't imagine myself, after being so used with making dreams come true, to be another anonymous copying and faxing and filing, or making countless phone calls to 'leads' and tried to assigned them to a service they do not need. I can't help feeling in despair, that from being drive by chauffeur to fancy resorts and helping to make weddings worth thousands of dollars come true, I had to resort in being the small fish, or even tadpole, in the pond. Which I never did in the first place. I had the luck to somehow manage to land myself in good companies, ones that are considered 'better' than their competitors. I am the posh girl, or was.

It is ancient history, though. Here I am, not in Bali or Jakarta. Here my English skill is not my trump card anymore, as it has been since my professional years; here it is a hindrance. Where before I used my English to get my foot in the door and let my professional skills slid by as an afterthought, here I have to convince my future employers about my professional skills and hope they won't make too much fuss about my imperfect English. If I can sell a $1500 short-time photography package by emails only (and to people that live thousands of miles away), then I can 'sell' myself as effective as well. Even if I had to start from the bottom, I know I am smart enough to race myself to the top. I can do this. Isn't it amazing on how big of a difference the mood of the sky could make? I know I won't have such determination if I started the day with the heat of Los Angeles sun blasting through, yet this outcast weather showed me that the city is conquerable, that there is still hope.

I want to do more in this city. I want to be successful in this city, at least successful enough so I can do simple things that I like, such as eating ramen at Little Tokyo or visiting all of Los Angeles' museums. I want to have friends and feel how it is like to be a part of this community, this vibrant city. I want to feel home in this city. All of those require me to snap out from my despair and to conquer my fear, to courageously go where I have never gone before. I am scared, I am frightened, I want to go home. Yet this is my home, at least for now; and I refuse to let life and fear defeat me. I will stumble along the way, crying in despair: "No more, no more", but I will and I have to keep on moving. This is my life. I can make it work. I can do this.