Back in Los Angeles, Renewed

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After a week of meandering through the Midwest, I’m finally back on the west coast. In the midst of its cool and breezy daylight, with bacon grilling on the skillet and a plane engine whirring far out in the clear blue sky, the town has never felt so fresh; Chicago made for some awesome Times, but I love Los Angeles and wouldn’t trade it for any other city in the world.

Now, it’s time to rebuild myself. As if with new eyes, or at least a renewed vision, I’m at a point at which I can look at things back home from the ground up again.

A new school-year has just begun, and with it, a world of transitions start over again. In the same light, this August 19th, JIMBO TIMES will enter into its third year of production:

“And it suddenly dawns on me that in the blink of an eye I might never again see my city the way I get to now. The time is special: particular to sounds, sights, scents, and other essences all of their own. Like everything else, it’s only temporary. For a second, I want to pause every bit of it to stand indefinitely in the moment. I realize that even if it’s not perfect, it’s more than plenty, and that even if it’s a struggle, it’s one I’m fiercely determined to go the distance with. After all, every last inch of L.A.’s concrete has strengthened my feet, every one of its lights has guided my journey, and each of the strangers I’ve encountered along the way have all accompanied me throughout its long road. Together, we are still here: still hungry, but also still humble; day in and night out, each with our own kind of love for this miracle and madness of a home. For me, sometimes it’s not much, but other times, it is everything. Tonight, it is everything.”

Today is also my brother’s first day living in San Jose, California. He’s been back home in L.A. since finishing his first semester at Chico State, but now he’s in a transition again, too. School starts for him next week, but before then, it’s just him and a strange new city. I still remember meeting up with him in the city of Chico like it was just the other day.

In reality, it was some two months ago in the early days of June, at the outset of summertime. Looking back at our time at home in the middle of our twenties, we’ll be able to say we managed to be loyal about it for more than one occasion: hugging mom together, riding out to the park together, enjoying fish tacos and a beer or two together.

Tomorrow, mom is also off to an adventure, leaving for a week to visit our abuelita in Oaxaca. I’m happy for her, but also naturally just slightly worried. Flying can be exhausting, and the little Señorita will definitely need some rest after her flight. Still, I trust she’ll be in good hands. She’s the heart of lions. Of course she’ll be just fine.

As for yours truly, there’s a world to bring to fruition. All the projects I’ve had the pleasure of citing throughout the pages as of late, and even more.

It goes on, and it will continue to drain me, but I’m so grateful for each part of it. I can feel it all flowing right through like water and the wind on my skin. Los Angeles’s water and wind, that is, tremendous in every ounce they get to me.

J.T.

Next Stop: Chicago, Illinois

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Los Angeles,

The day is drawing towards its end, and I can finally let it go. The last week and a half has been an eclectic time time of planning and process; there was a list somewhere – or two – but now it’s all come down to just the night.

In the morning, Chicago, Illinois.

Seven years ago when I first booked a flight just because it was on a visit to New York. I wasn’t much of a planner then, so rather than making lists, I figured I’d just go with the flow and take care of anything that came up on the spot. Boy was I in for a rude awakening.

For starters, when I hopped off the plane at LaGuardia airport, I got into a cab and gave the driver directions to a hostel that was actually on the opposite side of town. By the time I realized it, however, I looked at the fare that tallied up and just played it cool. I knew where I was going. Ahem.

When we got to what was supposed to be the hostel that was actually just a convenience store, I thanked the driver for his time, paid my fare, and as soon as the driver was out of sight scurried to find the nearest subway station.

Underneath a gripping east coast heat and the weight of a duffel bag waning my shoulders between turns carrying it, I found the right line and booked it to the other side of Manhattan. It was still all good.

Then when I arrived to just outside of the spot, I reveled in self-congratulation. So what if I went the wrong way at first? I still made it! I called mom back home and declared victory (though she was skeptical).

The only problem was that at that point I didn’t actually understand hostels much beyond the fact that they were supposed to be cheaper than hotels, thus neglecting to make a reservation at the hostel inn, telling myself that it’d be just like any other hotel with plenty of walk-ins available.

I was wrong; it turned out that the guy in line right in front of me – some tall biker looking type – totally took the last spot!

From there it truly began. The evening steadily crept over the sky, and I suddenly found myself at the outset of an unforgettably tough first night in The Big Apple. Ah, to be nineteen again.

Tonight, I find myself at the end of a road in which I pride myself on my precision. Though I’m still large on improvisation, some other part of me truly enjoys accounting and planning for as many details as possible. Okay, maybe it’s more like an obsession with details, but what’s the difference, anyhow?

In the days leading up to tonight, it was obsessing over one goal after the other — getting this done here, and finishing that up there — leaving everything else behind.

In the process I maintained my precision, but not without accumulating quite a bit of stress from it; the thing is, like anyone else when it comes to a big day, I also agonize over the details more than I’d like to, but there are few alternatives.

I do believe utter confidence is a gift sometimes. But clearly, I’ve had experiences where the opposite is true.

In the case of this adventure, though, I think confidence is still in letting go after all. While letting go of an obsession with being precise is the work of a lifetime, what I can do now is let go of the notion that it’s a fault to stress over a big day.

I don’t think it’s wrong to want to get everything right leading up to an important trip to a new city, but only human.

In any case, at this point I simply don’t even have much time left to stress over that either, so the impetus really is to relax a little. I think I’ll take a jog.

It’s been an amazing ride L.A., but the real ride starts tomorrow! Be sure to check back for more details soon, as I can assure you it’s going to be another unforgettable time.

J.T.

MacArthur Park is Critical to Los Angeles

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Situated at a central point of Los Angeles, MacArthur park is a mostly neglected landscape that many people in the city nevertheless rely on. To my knowledge, since as far back as the 1980s, its lengthy green pastures and the enclosed concrete within have set the stage for generations of Centro-Americanos to hang out and assess life in L.A.

Over ten years ago, it was also a major site for L.A.’s biggest mass mobilization ever, when the 2006 Marches in support of undocumented immigrants made their way through its green space. I took part in those demonstrations, and in doing so, discovered a piece of myself within el pueblo that I carry with me to this day.

Only the next year after L.A.’s largest mass demonstration for immigrants ever, in a subsequent march known as the 2007 May Day March, which stood for the same protections as the previous demonstrations, the park would be the epicenter of a brutal crackdown on protesters and activists at the hands of then police chief William Bratton’s LAPD. Police officers fired over 100 rounds of projectiles directly into the peaceful crowd, descended on journalists with their batons, and kicked mothers and children who didn’t scurry quickly enough at their call. Although the department eventually admitted its breakdown in the face of peaceful demonstration, no subsequent reports of chiefs at fault being disciplined or a policy overhaul were ever made known.

Today the park is home to many of L.A.’s ‘homeless’ population, whose encampments are situated in and across 35 acres of greenscape; while the greenery still glistens with life, the park’s restrooms–like much of the ground surrounding them–are in need of deep washing; and apart from sanitation, the park also needs more spaces devoted to the surrounding neighborhood such as recreation centers, spaces for the elderly, and playgrounds for youth.

Walking through MacArthur’s vast and fragmented terrains, one might almost forget that it’s smack-dab in the middle of a city yearning to be known for its innovation. It’s then that one realizes that it’s actually past time to apply some innovative solutions to rein in the park’s neglect. But make no mistake about it: the descendants of those Centro-Americano workers–including those activists and protesters from 2006–still have the park in sight and are not short on ideas about its future. Stay tuned.

J.T.

Here and There in Downtown Los Angeles

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For a young photographer still finding their way, downtown Los Angeles offers just the right concoction of abstract architecture and solo night-goers to capture L.A., ‘the strangeness’.

I’m luck y to have a camera in my hand to try and reflect for viewers just what this feels like. More often than not, walking through Los Angeles is like walking through an abandoned would-be city, or a world made of movie sets whose features give one the strange sense that they’ve seen ‘it all’ before, even if they can’t quite trace where.

Downtown L.A. is a quintessential example of this process. Of course, the area has been featured in a number of different films for decades, but even so, there’s always something new about it, if not something off, even.

Metro Red Line, Civic Center terminal; Los Angeles, California