there are no cowboys in hong kong, so one can only imagine the surprise i felt at hearing a real southern accent. i don’t think the texan accent is native to san diego, but this was good enough. the san diego old town was my final stop in my weekend trip to a “south-er” california, and after leaving my friends back at the hotel for my early train i decided to spend some time in this eclectic cultural park.
i perused the old-timey shops, with their creaky wood floors and the musk of tobacco and linen filling my lungs. one shop caught my eye with a sign that advertised root beer floats, a drink that i thought would complete my experience of san diego’s own simulacra of 18th century america. i entered the store, and after scanning the various beef jerky assortments that the store had i paced towards the counter to ask about this root beer float that i so craved.
“do you guys have root beer floats?”
deciding that $12 was worth shelling out to complete my san diego experience, i coughed up the money and watched as she took out two cups of ice cream from the fridge and a large bottle of american-made old-fashioned root beer. turns out the $12 was for two cups of root beer floats meant for two people, with the rest of the bottle being included in that fee. perhaps it was more worth it now, but then a sad realization came upon me: i didn’t have another person to share it with.
i finished one of the cups at the store, but since my train was coming soon i had to carry the remainder of the root beer in my bag and the second cup in my hand. sitting in the train, my predicament did not change. this root cup of root beer was technically not meant for me, as whoever decided on the returns of my $12 transaction probably meant for the root beer to be shared, not selfishly inhaled by a chinese tourist. but who could i possibly have shared it with?
if only there were someone i could have indulged in this all-american experience with! perhaps i was disappointed in not realizing what i expected upon purchasing this drink, which was a good time with a friend playing as cowboys enjoying a sweet refreshing soda. instead, a different sensation ran through me, one with the same excitement of being in a different world but this time alone. i was a lone ranger, walking through a town that was the polar opposite of my skyscraper-lined concrete jungle, drinking a symbol of this new world i find myself in. in a weird way, i was a wild west pioneer, coming from a foreign land to this gravel-laden town with only me to keep myself company and drink root beer floats with.
culture by definition needs other people to experience with, but there is a magic in the contrary where culture is experienced in solitude, where a new world is painted in front of you and you are the sole witness. there is also an emptiness that comes with this, but is emptiness always bad? now we have all the more reason to share! when i left san diego and arrived back in los angeles, i stumbled upon a memorial concert for antonio aguilar, a mexican singer. there is no mariachi in hong kong, but in la i find myself frequenting mariachi concerts as the sole chino in the crowd. a mere 10 minute walk from the concert, i found myself in the heart of little tokyo where i embarrassed myself trying to buy a bracelet in mumbly japanese as the cashier accommodated me by speaking english back to me.
some things are better shared like root beer floats, a mariachi concert, and matching bracelets, but it isn’t so bad to have them alone sometimes. cultural beauty yearns to be shared, but it takes one person to start. here in la people seem to be so scared to be alone, but maybe we should be scared a couple times in our life. we don’t need friends to feel the warmth of mexican music, the kindness of the japanese, the taste of persian food, or the beauty of european art, though it would be so much better if we had them! culture is the art, this world is the canvas, and we are its spectators, so maybe we should keep each other company in our admiration.