I was at a wedding last year in Florida when an older gentleman sitting next to me introduced himself as the father of one of the groomsmen. He had a bushy beard and a gruff warmness to him that made him seem like a recurring character in Duck Dynasty or Justified. After telling him I was living in San Francisco, he leaned in, put a hand on my shoulder, and asked me if I was doing alright over there, as though I had told him that I was voluntarily living in a maximum security prison.
I’ve had several moments like this over the past several years, given all the national headlines about homelessness, cost of living, and crime in San Francisco.
And while the city most definitely has its problems, it’s too simplistic to define anything exclusively by its challenges - instead, a city for me is all about the people.
The landlord
My landlord liked repairing things himself, despite being worth well over $50 million. I wasn’t sure that tinkering with my apartment’s broken A/C was the best use of his time, but hey, to each his own.
During one of these visits to my apartment, he brought his five-year old twins along. When he arrived, he asked me if I spoke any Mandarin, since I guess I looked Asian enough and since his kids were apparently fluent at it.
The kids learned English in school, had a Chinese nanny on certain days and had a Portuguese nanny on other days, which meant that his kids were well on track to being super-children who spoke three languages fluently. This setup made sense since my landlord’s Brazilian, his ex-wife is Chinese, and he had the F-you money to hire whatever kind of nanny he wanted.
When his kids started speaking to me in Mandarin, I nodded to them in understanding, not because I understood anything they said, but because I realized then that I would send my future children to school far away from San Francisco - away from all these kids propped up by tech exec money.
The restaurant owner
Ellen is a Filipina woman in her sixties who runs a Filipino restaurant in Soma, a neighborhood that’s traditionally had a large Filipino population. But with rising rents and relatively low levels of home ownership amongst the Filipino community in Soma, the number of Filipinos in the neighborhood has diminished tremendously.
Yet, Ellen’s little restaurant holds on. Now, I could tell you about the crunchiness of her restaurant’s lumpiang shanghai, the fatty crispy skin of her crispy pata, or the bustling nature of her restaurant given the authenticity of her offerings.
But I’d be lying to you - the food’s just not that good. The lumpiang shanghai tastes microwaved more than deep fried. The crispy pata has the texture of a rubber band.
The whole dining experience is especially sad because Ellen is such a kind woman who greets you by name and with a big smile as you walk through her mostly empty restaurant. I had never wanted a restaurant like Ellen’s to succeed so badly, despite the food being lackluster at best.
But in a way, maybe the restaurant’s a fitting tribute to San Francisco’s Filipino community in Soma - on the decline.
The couple
The hidden beauty of San Francisco lies in its hills.
I was taking the 22 bus to go from the Fillmore district to the Marina, which is one of the most gorgeous bus rides you can take in the city given that you end up getting these stunning views of the ocean as the bus slowly makes its way to the top of the hill overlooking the waters.
That day, I found myself sitting across from a young couple in their early twenties - the guy’s arm was wrapped around the girl’s shoulders while her head was nuzzled against his neck as she half sung, half murmured a song in his ear.
“I’ve got my eyes on you,” she hummed to the tune of Drake’s hit as the bus slowly made its way downhill, allowing us to witness the ocean being lit up in streaks of red and orange as the sun slid its way below the horizon.
In that moment, I felt that San Francisco was the most romantic city in the world.
