I love the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, but that's probably because it, as representative of New York City, is "the city" I first knew; not to mention that the commotion reminds me of my childhood home, what with my mom's career and boundless social need. I love the melodic elegance of the French language, but so did my Colombian grandmother, as she's told me many times; and much of the whole wide world has a reverence for Paris, however imagined or misguided. But I didn't expect to love the cultural landscape of Los Angeles. 
En fait, I'd hardly known one existed... and I'd be grateful if you could please excuse such a truth. This is a place to become. There's freedom in the space, in the undefinedness, in the beautiful excess of palms and bougainvillea across miles of unruly concrete. 
But, this is also a place to drown, overlooked and forgotten, in the oppressive sunshine that blurs seasons into empty "nice days".
For the past few weeks, I've been listening to podcasts on my commute (p.s. I moved). And as I was riding with TED Radio Hour on Identities, it occurred to me that after "what do you do?" and "what are you?" (a careless--and, in my opinion, annoying--way to inquire about racial and ethnic background), the most common question I've received while meeting new people is "where are you from?" So few follow with "where are you going?" Though, to be fair, I wouldn't know how to answer. It is interesting how we choose to define people.
It's interesting, too, how we define ourselves--by our places, people, and preferences; trying to articulate the unique in our sameness.
"New Yorker in L.A. by way of Paris." It's a statement that describes me well, yet not at all. Declarations of identity tend to be oversimplified that way. And I'm only just beginning to understand the nitty gritty of myself. Thus these thoughts with these photos.
