Lost Angeles

And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.

Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Mirrored Room was completely booked in the second opportunity for me to experience this exhibit, which temporarily bummed me out, so a glittering view of LA sprawl from the Griffith Observatory will suffice. 

Two versions of LA have always existed in my head.

Version 1: Dream. 

The City Of Angels. You hold high standards for a place with that moniker. The miles of palms and billboards, remnants of glorious movie palaces, decayed marquees, commercial ghost type on the facades of 19th century brick structures, and landmarked towns and streets serve as constant reminders of this city’s decorative history with cinema. Every corner, each tourist trap holds traces of a magical industry built on motion picture storytelling, forever cemented in television and film. This city, a movie junkie’s paradise that many chased to pursue a career or 15 minutes of fame, greatly capitalized an entertainment industry that either killed dreams or made them come true.

Version 2: Lust

Lust Angeles.
I met LA countless times in my youth, thanks to its close proximity to the LBC, my mom’s work, and relatives in the area. LA was the first big city I truly experienced, and each visit to some touristy spot or a simple encounter had me infatuated with movie prop architecture and wanting more. It was definitely love at first sight, and though numerous cities have caught my interest since then, I never forgot LA, in the sense that you never forget your first love. And looking out at the beaming skyline dressed in a dusty sunset, I found that the warm feelings I once had for this beautiful city were long gone. Surprisingly, I still liked LA, just no longer lusted for it–the grand myth, the symbol and everything it stood for. Though I’ve been crushing hard on Chicago, my heart was always in San Diego.


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