I had spent 3 days in L.A., upon arrival I was met by my mom's niece, Pacita and my half aunt, Naty. The trip was longer than normal. A breakdown in New Mexico, meant a longer stoppover than normal in Alburquerque. These delays were viewed with annoyance by most but served to make the trip memorable. The expanses of Eastern Californian desert seemed like another country captured in March daylight. L.A. on the other hand, was a strangely familiar smoggy, but warm metropolis. I had attended a workshop at the AFI in the hollywood hills. The instructor was a strange fellow who again had a distinct chickenhawk personality. He took a liking to some students, including me. Upon assisting me with a quicktime movie render, he let out a muffled grunt under his breath which might have been a sharp yell if he didn't suppress it with practice. He claimed it was an old "war wound."

I rented a minivan from the office in the hotel and took a nice late afternoon drive down Sunset blvd all the way to the ocean. It was a nice way to frame my trip with the west coast. My memories were punctuated by the usual touristy visits to the hollywood bowl, farmers market, olivera street, beverly hills and of course Universal studios but my mindset for travel was firmly pushing me with anticipation for the next destination, San Francisco by way of the Coast Starlight.

I left without giving my aunt the check my mom had written out. Perhaps it was for the best as the amount could have been awkwardly inappropriate. I had a melancholy view of my aunt from this trip. I had visited the street corner newsstand she worked with her husband, as a makeshift market to sell her cooked goods. She had a lucrative business back in the Philippines but had a tough time that is familiar to most immigrants yet always hurts when it hits close to home. I still recall her face of surprise when I boarded the train at Union station. It was the last time I saw her. She passed in winter of 2013.