I'm Leaving

by Olivia Kozakiewicz (Canada)

I didn't expect to find USA

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Coming to the hostel I was scared. There seemed to be a wave of homeless people in California, and I had never seen this many before. A couple were just down the street playing guitar, another sitting on the ledge of the parking lot that landed on the sandy beach. Many more walked the neighborhood, and it wasn't just the different atmosphere that unsettled me. I was alone. Entering the San Diego hostel I could feel the stick and heat of sweat on my shirt, and all I could think about was how I needed to meet some people; orient myself; or make a plan at the very least; but then it happened. I lived more in one week than I had in the last six months of my life. My adventure started when I slipped - right into a conversation and into two friendships that would start my stay in California. I was scared to talk in the big hostel group that was walking down to Sunset Cliffs, but my blubbering mouth couldn't take more than thirty minutes of silence so I spoke to the girls behind me. Later I found out their names were Savannah and Nancy. That night Nancy and I found Brandon, and in the excruciatingly painful hour of five the next morning we got up to watch the sunrise. The time was enjoyed sharing a protein bar, and watching fishermen on the pier loop their bait on hooks and release it into the waves. We were just three perfect strangers, but not at all. Campfire night came at the hostel and with only a couple hours to our friendship mine and Alicia's seemed older. I had just taught her how to make her first s'more, and we were sitting with the rest of the hostel group watching the embers. The stars that night were beautiful. They stood out like splotches of white throughout the inky sky. I grabbed a blanket so I could lay down and put it behind us. She decided to lay down too, and I showed her where Orion's belt was; relating it to the story of when my mum first pointed it out to me in elementary. The next morning we decided to have a day together and visit Black's Beach. Wind strew our hair across our faces and threw the food from the picnic table where we sat; all while watching para-gliders jump off the 150 meter cliff into an open stretch of airways that fought against them. Savannah had told us to come here and it was nothing but wide and open beach to the water. It went on for kilometers into a haze. Maybe ten other people were down at the sand. It looked liked the dark beaches found in one of Iceland's travel guides. In my phone case I still have the card from the first person I befriended on my trip. He's an engineer, 27. We met on the airplane from Vancouver to San Diego and talked for almost two hours. I taught him everything I know about travel; how to find an airplane ticket for cheap and getting a great Airbnb. He told me about his life. He lives with his parents in Calgary, and he's going to get married this summer. He even showed me his schedule asking if I thought he had enough time to visit BC when he had two weddings in June. I definitely thought so. In California, I wasn't the girl who came to the hostel in a sweaty tank top. I was the person who became friends with a Swiss girl and looked at the stars; who talked with an engineer for two hours about their life before their journey even started; and found herself among two other strangers trying to catch the sunrise. "And that's why I have to leave," I thought. I was climbing up the steps of the stairs that'd been built into the side of Black's Beach cliff. There was sand wedged in my sneakers and snug in my socks. "I have to do a gap year."