The summer before my eighth grade year I had the pleasure of visiting my birth state, California. I had various family members residing in the San Francisco and Sacramento area, including members on both of my parents’ sides. I would like to say my visit was fairly enjoyable, but then I would be lying.

For the most part in those two summer months, I spent my time at my paternal grandparent’s house. They lived in the city; it was only a few minutes drive from the beach. My grandparents housed my aunt and my grandmother’s mother.  The house was unkempt and I wondered if they had ever heard of a broom. The atmosphere was negative. As a child of thirteen I was prohibited from venturing out on my own, which forced me to stay indoors and find ways to occupy my time by myself. My great-grandmother dabbled in piano, and by the end of my visit I played a miniature recital for my family. I was expecting occasionally to eat San Francisco’s famous cuisine, but sadly that never happened. Only thrice did my grandparents take me out publically to eat, and once occurred the day I was returning home.

I must say my visit was not completely miserable. I did go to see several tourists’ attractions. One weekend we went to see the Golden Gate Bridge, another time it was Fisherman’s Warf and Pier 39. What I enjoyed the most was driving through Chinatown, as I was unaccustomed to the multi-leveled roads. As of shopping, everything I wanted was bought with the meager sixty dollars I had, which was difficult in a city with high inflation. My most prized possessions from those experiences were the pictures I took, as I could not afford souvenirs.

During those two months, I barely saw my maternal family. It seems as if my paternal family would not let me go. I spent a week in Sacramento with my maternal aunt and cousins near the end of my stay. I smiled more in that week than I did in my whole stay in San Francisco.  At my aunt’s I felt part of the family. We went to the state fair and took pictures with parrots. I bought a two-feet-long bag of freshly made kettle corn. When my paternal grandparents came to retrieve me at the end of the week, they yelled at me the entire drive back. I cried myself to sleep that night. I just wanted to go home.

My visit to California was disappointing. I expected returning home excited to share stories of what I did to my maternal grandma. But, my experience turned out surprisingly different from what I thought. Because of this experience, when I think about California, it is full of negative thoughts. Sometimes things do not happen the way I want it to and now I know I have to be ready for anything.