San Francisco By My Side
Graphic by: Victoria Li
Mya Oro
12 09 2025
12 09 2025
This past November, I took the red line BART towards Millbrae, embarking on a journey to San Francisco from Berkeley. The occasion? To celebrate my 18th birthday. I rejoiced at the fact that I was finally about to become an adult, a desire that had been growing increasingly in the past few months. Purchasing lottery tickets, tattoos, and voting were all within my reach and I was more than excited to celebrate with my new-found college friends. The day was refreshing, as it was spent thrifting, taking ‘candid’ photos, eating real food (not served from the questionable Berkeley dining), and enjoying each other's company. If anything, my four friends and I were just happy to be relieved from the Berkeley bubble if only for a day.
On the bustling 7 bus line towards Haight Street, I stared out the window peering at the signature San Francisco Victorian architecture. Perhaps it was due to the reflective nature of a birthday, perhaps I was hormonal, but in any case, sitting on that bus leaning my head against my friend, I began to cry. At that moment I realized that I had taken this exact journey on the Muni 7 bus line for the past several years, each celebrating my birthday.
Except each year I had celebrated with almost an entirely different set of people.
How is that possible?
For the past several years, I unintentionally always spent my birthday in San Francisco. Celebrating in my small suburban hometown was not the ideal option for me. To me, a birthday is a special occasion, deserving to be celebrated in a special space. And in my mind, that has always equated to San Francisco’s vibrant architecture, multitude of activities, and its fast paced environment compared to my hometown.
A typical birthday celebration in San Francisco follows a sequence of general events: hopping on the Vallejo ferry, enjoying a cute brunch, taking the Muni 7 line to Haight-Ashbury, exploring one of the signature parks (Dolores, Golden Gate, Alamo Square are top contenders), and concluding the day with a slice of cheesecake from the Cheesecake factory, preferably while viewing the Union Square Christmas tree. Each year there is always some slight variation, as for my 16th birthday I stayed in the city for multiple days or for my 18th birthday I took the Bart instead of the ferry. But most notably, every single celebration has been spent with a different group of friends, family members, or on one occasion, someone who was more than a friend.
On my most recent birthday Muni ride, I came to an unprecedented revelation. Everyone I have ever loved or continue to love, has taken the time to celebrate my existence in this very city. The timestamps of my various identities, or rather, the evolution of my being has been recorded through numerous birthdays and it was all grounded in the streets of San Francisco.
Growing up, I always imagined myself going to college as far away as I possibly could. I had my dreams set on New York City, imagining my future as glamorous as Blair Waldorf’s or perhaps peripatetic in Southern California amongst the beach. I yearned to be in an uncomfortable environment, gain unique experiences, and perhaps grow into a different version of myself. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would spend my first birthday in college in the exact same city and in the exact same way. The close proximity of the university to my hometown didn’t fully hit me until that moment. Immediately I felt confused and panicked. Would I ever have the chance to grow into an evolved version of myself if I stayed in the same 50 mile radius; especially in a time that is supposed to be the most pivotal in personal growth? An even more imposing question was: how was I supposed to start fresh if the city I loved was clouded by past memories of previous friendships and experiences?
I confided in my friend sitting beside me as I tried to make sense of my miniature, yet seemingly important, life crisis. She patiently listened to my tearful ramble about living the same life eternally with no progress or change. After I concluded my thoughts, instead of agreeing with my rant, she said the most redirecting statement towards my despairing mindset.
“San Francisco has always been my city, it can be yours too.”
Naturally, I was extremely humbled by that declaration. While battling my pride, I forgot to appreciate all the memories I have made in San Francisco. I disregarded them as something from the past, rather than appreciating all the amazing instances the city has granted me.
As people have moved in and out of my life, I have unconsciously relied on San Francisco to embrace me in times of celebration, the city’s beauty celebrating me equally as much as the people who surrounded me that given year. With the world being in a constant capricious state, how lucky I am to have a city I can make my own. Even better, having the privilege of revising and redefining myself alongside a city as special as San Francisco.
On the bustling 7 bus line towards Haight Street, I stared out the window peering at the signature San Francisco Victorian architecture. Perhaps it was due to the reflective nature of a birthday, perhaps I was hormonal, but in any case, sitting on that bus leaning my head against my friend, I began to cry. At that moment I realized that I had taken this exact journey on the Muni 7 bus line for the past several years, each celebrating my birthday.
Except each year I had celebrated with almost an entirely different set of people.
How is that possible?
For the past several years, I unintentionally always spent my birthday in San Francisco. Celebrating in my small suburban hometown was not the ideal option for me. To me, a birthday is a special occasion, deserving to be celebrated in a special space. And in my mind, that has always equated to San Francisco’s vibrant architecture, multitude of activities, and its fast paced environment compared to my hometown.
A typical birthday celebration in San Francisco follows a sequence of general events: hopping on the Vallejo ferry, enjoying a cute brunch, taking the Muni 7 line to Haight-Ashbury, exploring one of the signature parks (Dolores, Golden Gate, Alamo Square are top contenders), and concluding the day with a slice of cheesecake from the Cheesecake factory, preferably while viewing the Union Square Christmas tree. Each year there is always some slight variation, as for my 16th birthday I stayed in the city for multiple days or for my 18th birthday I took the Bart instead of the ferry. But most notably, every single celebration has been spent with a different group of friends, family members, or on one occasion, someone who was more than a friend.
On my most recent birthday Muni ride, I came to an unprecedented revelation. Everyone I have ever loved or continue to love, has taken the time to celebrate my existence in this very city. The timestamps of my various identities, or rather, the evolution of my being has been recorded through numerous birthdays and it was all grounded in the streets of San Francisco.
Growing up, I always imagined myself going to college as far away as I possibly could. I had my dreams set on New York City, imagining my future as glamorous as Blair Waldorf’s or perhaps peripatetic in Southern California amongst the beach. I yearned to be in an uncomfortable environment, gain unique experiences, and perhaps grow into a different version of myself. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would spend my first birthday in college in the exact same city and in the exact same way. The close proximity of the university to my hometown didn’t fully hit me until that moment. Immediately I felt confused and panicked. Would I ever have the chance to grow into an evolved version of myself if I stayed in the same 50 mile radius; especially in a time that is supposed to be the most pivotal in personal growth? An even more imposing question was: how was I supposed to start fresh if the city I loved was clouded by past memories of previous friendships and experiences?
I confided in my friend sitting beside me as I tried to make sense of my miniature, yet seemingly important, life crisis. She patiently listened to my tearful ramble about living the same life eternally with no progress or change. After I concluded my thoughts, instead of agreeing with my rant, she said the most redirecting statement towards my despairing mindset.
“San Francisco has always been my city, it can be yours too.”
Naturally, I was extremely humbled by that declaration. While battling my pride, I forgot to appreciate all the memories I have made in San Francisco. I disregarded them as something from the past, rather than appreciating all the amazing instances the city has granted me.
As people have moved in and out of my life, I have unconsciously relied on San Francisco to embrace me in times of celebration, the city’s beauty celebrating me equally as much as the people who surrounded me that given year. With the world being in a constant capricious state, how lucky I am to have a city I can make my own. Even better, having the privilege of revising and redefining myself alongside a city as special as San Francisco.
