North Star Writers Group

It’s been a year since I lived in Seattle. I can’t believe it – a whole year. I miss it a ton. It’s not that I have anything against the Bay Area. That’s not entirely true, actually. I am beginning to harbor a few grudges against this place.

But I miss looking up at gray skies every day for a month. I liked not having a shadow perpetually following me around. There’s something about a gray sky and no shadow that makes you feel less alone, and I doubt I can explain it. Maybe it just makes you more aware of the people around you.

I’ve never done as much people watching as I did in Seattle. It’s a wonderful city for people watching. You’ve got your businessmen and women, as well as a smorgasbord of hippies, a slew of homeless people and an unrivaled number of college students. I think people in Seattle are tragically confused, but it’s also beautiful, in a way. It’s true that the only people they don’t tolerate are those with strong opinions. You never say something like, “I think such and such is wrong,” unless you don’t mind being despised. You have to say it like, “I saw my friend do such and such and it made her so sad. I wish I understood why.” It gets old. But then, when you’ve been smothered by a climate of certainty about almost everything your whole life, Seattle, though a bit strange at first, is remarkably soothing.

I miss the Thai restaurants on every corner. There was practically no fast food, which was really hard to get used to. That is, until I found a McDonalds, at which point I felt okay again. But Seattleites love their Thai food. And now, I do too. There was one Thai place in particular on top of Queen Anne Hill, called Orapin. It was my first experience with Thai, and I’ll always remember the first time I was ever asked, on a scale of 1 to 5, how spicy I wanted my food to be. At first, I would always ask for 5, because I had convinced myself that this was manly. But I realized, after a while, that I seemed to be the only one who enjoyed a mouth on fire, and that Seattle does not have such a healthy reverence for those who go out of their way to experience pain. I started asking for level 3 on the spicy scale, and although it was a weird at first, I must admit that it felt good to taste my food again. I doubt I’ll ever lose my respect for those whose taste buds are so fried that they’ll always order the spiciest thing possible, but at least I now know that there are other options.

I miss the rain. I really do. I loved the rain. It sounds crazy, but in Seattle, no one complains about it. It’s just a way of life, and I highly doubt they’d like it better any other way. I remember, one time, when my future wife came up to visit over Christmas Break, and we were in the midst of a stretch of 30 straight days of rain. She did not particularly enjoy it, but we got to stay inside and watch my Seinfeld DVDs, and I’ll always remember that as one of the best times in my life.

I guess that’s the other thing. I met my wife in Seattle, and it makes me wonder if, had I met her there, even Baghdad could still stir up warm feelings. But having met her in Seattle in the month of June, with the overcast skies and the familiar chill in the air, she was heaped in an odd combination of hats, scarves, gloves, and mittens, I’ll never forget our first conversations in the lobby of an apartment complex that overlooked Queen Anne Hill. Our conversations were trite and shallow, probably because I was asking most of the questions. But they were ours, and they were some of the best afternoons of my life.

Seattle is a wonderful city. It is lost in its incessant thoughts, burrowed between towering mountain ranges, floating amidst bodies of water. Sometimes, after the 30^th straight day without a drop of rain, I begin to miss my old overcast home, and it makes me want to go back someday, perhaps to stay.

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This is Column # NS061. Request permission to publish here.