Los Angeles and I

Los Angeles and I made friends quickly. Not too quickly though, I'd be lying if I said we were attached by the hips overnight, or it was love at first sight. At first, I didn't think she was pretty. I didn't think she was my type. And I was a city slut; by the time she rolled around, I had flirted with a range of cities, but failed to commit to anything. Atlanta was a fling. She was pretty and offered a smattering of things - good food, amazing art and music, but I knew that Atlanta and I wouldn't challenge each other for long. It would be short-lived and fun, then, goodbye Altanta, it was nice knowing you. Cruel, maybe, but we both knew it wasn't a lifelong pairing. Why delude ourselves? You just know, early on. Paris, I love and admire. Whenever we meet, it's amazing and magical, but at times, she can be cold and detached. We'll meet up from time to time, but we'll never declare a lifelong allegiance to one another. We have a special relationship, but she'll always be a mistress. New York is an aspirational love. She's beautiful, brilliant, incredible. But we have an unpredictable relationship. Some nights, she offers up the world, and I am more than satiated, others, I am alone in my apartment, wondering what she is doing without me. She just makes me feel kind of insecure and I realize now, at my age, that I can't do that for a lifetime, so I'm walking away. London is quirky, fun, offbeat, but ultimately not for me. I just don't feel like myself when I'm with her. I feel like I would have to change to keep her and myself happy, and that won't do. Rome is fun for a while, but we don't have a primal connection. After some time, we've depleted the energy between us, we are left to ourselves, no more magic, just the two of us arguing over what to eat for dinner. Delhi is too comfortable. Copenhagen too complacent. San Fran to edgy. Chicago, forget it. Boston, cute, but no.

So Los Angeles. Who would have thought that if you warm up to Los Angeles, she would warm up to you? But she did. We always had this incredibly complex and nuanced dialogue, L.A. and I. And inside jokes. Just tonight, at Jose Andres' Bazaar, she said "Look to the table next to you. It's Pam Anderson. And look at the bar behind you. It's Marcel from Top Chef." And we laughed, together, L.A. and I. Only L.A. understands why these two particular sightings are significant to me. No one else. L.A. just gets me. She understands these parts of me that no other city ever has. She offers me tiny superficial jokes, but then she pushes harder, and hands me something so much deeper. She manages that line so well, with such ease, because she's brilliant and beautiful, but only if you recognize that kind of beauty. You think she's a slut, you think she's superficial. But that's because you don't really know her. And another thing, she doesn't put out as easily as you believe she will. And she resents it when people think she's a cultural wasteland. And I do too. If you appreciate her, truly, you'd realize just how amazing and brilliant and complex she is. And that she has a sense of humor about herself. That's more than I can say for you, S.F. Yeah, you. I'm so in love with L.A. I can't bring myself to ever leave her. And she knows it. She knows she has me wrapped around her little finger.

And L.A. is emotionally generous. She offers gifts I never even asked for. Yoga in Runyon Canyon, fig farms in Malibu. Union Station, Olivera Street. The views from the Bonaventure, Cemetery Screenings, barbecues at the top of Malibu Canyon, pit seats to Radiohead concerts at the Bowl, ice slushy caipirinhias, rent control, Lisa Cholodenko showing up at my door telling me she wants to shoot a movie in my living room, Omar from the Wire sitting next to me at Intelligentisia, horseback riding in Griffith Park to amazing sunsets, tea houses in Venice, incredible sushi, Ravi Shankar at Disney Hall, afternoons reading in Griffith Park, meta moments where she reminds me that this street or this park was in a movie I recently saw, laughter, and ache that makes me feel like I am finally undoing my own knots, forcing me to bring forth old hurts only in order to make peace with them once and for all. Los Angeles is like that. She wants the best for me. She really loves me.

And she reminds me of the India of my childhood. Something primal and nostalgic. Even my father noticed this when he first met her. L.A. reminds me of India, he said. So there you have it, my dad approves.

And I realize, only now, that L.A. reminds me of that thing I was always waiting for but could never really articulate or define. That primal component of love: the familiarity, the reminder of something deep within you, the spark of that recognition that this is love. A connection that's simply too intense to just leave alone. The stamp of confirmation that you've found your soul city.

So there it is. I'm about to propose. Because we're just too good together, L.A. and I. Sure, I think the traffic and the smog suck, but L.A. is more than accepting of me, with all my flaws. So who am I to judge? We're just right for each other. And we're clearly in love. We have a bright future together, and I think she's pretty committed to me. I trust L.A. completely. I trust her with my future, and more than anything, I adore her. My friends shake their heads at us, they tell me that they hope one day, they'll find what L.A. and I have. And truly, with all my heart, I hope they will too. Because I know how lucky I am. I've found real love.