It’s almost a year since I moved to San Francisco. A year with my current roommate who has been mostly absent the last few months as he is moving from one phase of life to another.

Living in San Francisco has been mostly my greatest dream with a few pitfalls. I explored most of the major neighborhoods, finding the cafe, the pho restaurant, the bakery, the cheap stores. I have traveled one end of the city to the other end using the bus and light rail, spending hours looking out the window. Ask me where one can buy cheap temporary furniture and I would know. Ask me where a trendy yet cheap restaurant would be and I can name it. Ask me where you can get a my first sony cassette player for cheap and I can certainly tell you. And I have been the tourist, the hipster, the foodie, the book reader, the tea sipper, the bus rider, the concert-goer, the festival attendee, the bar-hopper, the club dancer, the tour guide…

With some caveats. The public transportation (except the BART) is horribly slow and unreliable. I have to admit that certain parts of the city is really dirty and ghetto. And in some ways when I even compare it to Pittsburgh, the latter city contains more organization—even with fewer gems, it shines a bit brighter.

But nonetheless, maybe I haven’t finished it all. There are supposed to be reasons why people love San Francisco. I do really like the weather although I rarely can go out with a jacket in this city with no seasons. I currently like my apartment’s location conveniently located near main bus lines and the BART station.

At the same time though, I know so many people who live here and even more who plan to move here. In some ways, I feel that almost limits me. Do I want to be in a place where I know nobody? To feel the exhilaration of freedom? Or the fact that loneliness will consume me because it’s really not about the place, it’s about the people.