33. The Mission

It has been a long time since my last post, which was about fasting. Well, I did fast for three days, and I didn't die, in case anyone was wondering. Actually, it wasn't all that difficult. Fasting over a three day period was, for me, rather binary: I was either hungry or not - there was not much in between. And when I was hungry, even on day three, it was never much worse than the feeling of having missed breakfast on an ordinary day. The hunger pangs would come every few hours but in between there was respite and, for the most part, I felt pretty normal.

By day three I did find it hard to study - my ability to concentrate was certainly affected. If I had been lying down, I would get a bit of a head-rush when I stood up. I also found it advisable to avoid places where I could see or smell food because they would trigger more aggressive pangs. Interestingly, I also noticed an increased sensitivity in my ability to smell. I walked past a group of girls in North Beach and I am pretty sure that the smell of their perfume was much more intense than normal, and I could detect it from much further away. I was left feeling like Suskind's Grenouille - not a particular role model of mine.

I was in Vancouver when I broke the fast. I celebrated with an evening meal of sushi, then with a brownie from Starbucks and a few slices of maple fudge. This set my heart racing as if I were on speed. It is interesting to see what a powerful effect sugar can have when you are not used to it.

I have now moved into an apartment in the Mission district of San Francisco. I like living here - the sights and smells make me feel as if I am in Central America. There is also a much greater sense of community - I often see Mexicans, Salvadoreans or Guatemalans bumping into each other or hollering at each other across the street. It's also warmer and sunnier than other parts of the city. In fact, the Halloween weekend felt like midsummer. On hot afternoons, there's a group of Mexicans who meet to shoot craps against the wall beside my building. Well, I don't know whether they are actually shooting craps, but I have always wanted to use that expression. In any case, the Mexicans are throwing dice against a wall and taking bets.

I share the ground floor apartment with my friend G. There are a number of steps leading up to the front door. On sunny afternoons, it is a great pleasure to sit on those steps. They remind me of the steps leading up to the old brownstone in Sesame Street. Also, although I am not part of the Latino community here, when I sit on the steps and watch the goings on, I feel that I am not totally divorced from it either. Increasingly, I think it is important to feel some sense of community, even in a small vicarious way.



My flatmate and I decided to throw a Halloween party. On the morning of the party, I still did not have a costume. Fortunately, on the way to buy a breakfast burrito, I walked past a shop on Mission Street which, I think, provides Sunday best outfits for the neighborhood's coolest cats. It certainly does not market itself as a fancy dress shop. However, I found a very satisfactory costume - a peach suit and hat complemented by silky turquoise shirt and tie, and matching turquoise faux-aligator skin shoes:









It did cross my mind that walking around the Mission in my get up might be equivalent to blacking my face with shoe polish and wandering around Harlem - i.e. an error. However, I need not have worried - people openly burst into laughter when they saw me.