I am a restless “muchacho”, as my roommate will attest to. When I lie down to sleep, I toss and turn as I try to find solace and rest under warm sheets, with a newly-replaced mattress (which isn’t any better than the old one), with a roof over my head, with a heater, with a friend, with clothes, with a door that locks. Sometimes I imagine what it must be like to live without these things, and I realize that a lot of these things I could live without. I could forego all things besides community. Sometimes I go for a walk to clear my mind. There’s a girl, one of my hall mates who walks with me at night, simply enjoying the quietude, the “natural” air, the peace, the conversation, the company. But when I began to pay close attention to the details and analyze this nightly ritual, I came to the conclusion that I have a skewed perception of “nature” in all areas save one—community.
The ground was a simple place to start, because after all, it’s what we stand on, and foundations are paramount. The night ground is cool (I walk barefoot when I walk for pleasure), and pleasant to walk on when it isn’t sandy. And even when sand is involved, it simply reminds me that life’s path isn’t smooth always, but at times is speckled, uncomfortable, and even downright painful. But sand also reminds me of Manhattan Beach, which is one of the places I adore most in the world, and where I find a natural and incredibly sensual power in the waves, the houses, the sand, the wind, and the dolphins. When the ground is covered with sand, it feels either grainy or soothing, depending on the depth and the wetness. Walking barefoot is a strange sensation that deserves to be named, and even though I have been walking barefoot around campus this entire year (when I’m not going to and from classes and dining commons), the odd feeling of my arches actually performing their function of balancing the weight of the body and offering a little “spring in your step” as they support the “strike” phase of walking. This also reminds me that going barefoot is the primary reason why beach volleyball is much more difficult than indoor volleyball. But the sand and the bare feet only remind me that it is concrete or asphalt that I walk upon, not the warm earth. Sidewalks are definitely not a part of the “natural” world, untouched by man. But is not “Man” an integral and dominant part of nature and the world at large? Our course’s theme is cosmopolitanism, and though we may be looking at the world as a whole, the world we look at is still comprised of men and women, individuals who have their role and place in the ecosystems. Every person breathes the same air, though the air is sweeter in other places. The air is saliently tainted with chlorinated city sprinkler “reclaimed irrigation water,” and the night air makes that fact even more clear, since it is at night time when the sprinklers turn on to water the ground. This girl always wants to run through the sprinklers, but she also reasons that the water is not so clean, and the night air would chill the bones of a drenched girl, and she would have to shower when we got back to our dorm. Sometimes we do run through the sprinklers…
We walked to a parking lot off of California Street, and I noticed a quaint little square where I’d imagine suits would leisurely eat lunch or hold outdoor meetings. When we got there and I pulled out my notepad to see if inspiration would strike, I was put off by the light of the lamps that illuminated my pad. It was an imitation of moonlight, and as my grandfather has taught me, moonlight is almost impossible to replicate perfectly. The designer of these lamps did a good job though—even the light was made artificial. How far do you have to run to find “nature?”
The most recent time we went for a nightly walk we walked through the wildlife preserve near the science library. I don’t know if it was off-limits, but there wasn’t any fencing around it. The air was fresh there; the mustard stalks shimmered dull yellow in the waxing moonlight, and the sky itself even seemed to be clearer and less polluted by the streetlights and the smog. The clouds formed a canopy that only occasionally let the moon shine through, but the path was bright enough. I gave the choice of which direction to take next to my friend, and she couldn’t make up her mind, saying “You’re the leader. So lead on.” We walked until the clouds were broken up by the dawning sun. Though I’ve never tasted tequila or other hard liquors before, it reminded me of the Eagles’ song “Tequila Sunrise,” as my friend and I stood at the top of the Social Science Lecture Hall, watching the sun break over the hills in the east. The houses of Dartmouth Court and the like of the huge University Town Center community were illuminated to reveal Spanish style roofs, which I’d never noticed before, which reminded me of my dear grandparents’ house that has the same red-brick shingle style roof. Again I wondered to myself: “Could I live without a roof, or any of the other things that truly don’t belong here?” And when I looked at my friend next to me, I knew the answer was “yes,” as long as I had what matters most, what is most natural (or perhaps that which is least unnatural?) about UC Irvine—community, friendship, family, love.
