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Three Kinds of Pink

You cannot deny your hometowns, even if you have lived in three states thrice.

By Ariana GonBonPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
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One of many tattoo-idea doodles on the edges of my college notes.

I’m obsessed with flowers. One of the tattoos that I’ve wanted for the longest time will be a Weeping Yoshino Cherry tree leaf (Prunus x yedoensis pendula), a yellow Angel’s Trumpet (Brugmansia versicolor), and a saguaro cactus flower (Carnegiea gigantea) tied with a string, surrounded by the aura of La Virgen de Guadalupe. One day, it will be found on my upper left arm. Flowers tinge my hometowns - beauty is a good compensation for and summary of feeling the best and worst emotions in a place.

First Memories, First elementary school

Tempe, AZ, saw me make my first friendship, and the birth of my second friend - my brother.

Willow at Wellesley, Second and third elementary school

A Weeping Yoshino Cherry tree can be found on Wellesley College’s campus, between the waterfall and Paramecium Pond. I was born onto that campus, I grew up there during a then-record-breaking winter, and I went to college there.

Willy the Weeping Yoshino Cherry Tree

The Weeping Yoshino tree was the center of my heart when I was 8 years old. He protects those under him, and he continued to haunt my adolescent writings. Willy the Willow tree, as my creative 8-year-old-self named him, was Wellesley to me. He is part of the 500 acre campus that I swore I had explored every inch of.

The town of Wellesley was where I experienced snow for the first time, and got cut by snow (thank you to my father for that snowball accident to the face). Wellesley was my gateway to Boston, full of history and revolution. (I found out later it was not a revolution for all, since American History lies to your beliefs.)

Everyone else had a hometown, so I wanted one too. I knew that for many, a hometown is where they were born, and then usually raised. Since I was raised in a lot of places, I decided that where I was born would do for my hometown, so Wellesley it was. Well, Wellesley was close enough to Newton to count - the hospital is Newton-Wellesley after all.

Back to Chandler, Fourth elementary school

During and because of that then-record-breaking winter in Wellesley, my mother broke her rib while coughing. She self-prescribed barely-there-winters, so we went back to Chandler, AZ.

Chandler was boring. You couldn’t explore the city of Phoenix like you could Boston. You couldn't even look at interesting houses in your neighborhood because it’s a cookie-cutter suburb. Chandler was not my hometown, and never would be. Thankfully, my brother and I were legitimately prescribed sea air to combat the dust in our lungs.



To the Color, Middle School

Chandler was beige, and San Diego was color. Everything was color. No cookie-cutter houses in North Park, San Diego, California. The beach was 15 minutes away, the nice one 20 minutes, but we took more advantage of walks. Class differences were advertised in the mundane of sidewalks. I lived in a neighborhood of grey sidewalks that were sometimes broken. When walking to the local ice cream shop with my favorite hand-made flavor (chocolate peanut butter, with the peanut butter strips interspersed), the sidewalks would turn pink from one block to the next. I noticed more flowers while on pink sidewalks, even a small strawberry plant, the only one I’ve seen to date. As we approached the ice cream shop, there were hanging yellow bell flowers - Angel’s Trumpets - and I could look up into stars I could touch.

Downtown North Park was full of sweets, where I could have coffee in tiramisu before I was allowed to have it for real - shout out to Heaven Sent Desserts and Extraordinary Desserts. It always tastes sweeter when it's forbidden.

Hillcrest had shops with wedding cake toppers for two brides or two grooms in the windows, which made my newly-realized-bisexual-heart happy.

Downtown had the Episcopal Cathedral, where I learned how to put even more color into the world, using art to praise and worship La Virgen de Guadalupe. It had Balboa park, with access to museums, the zoo, and an artist’s village, all bursting with color. I found my Spanish again in the middle school that shares a fence with that zoo, honing my Chicana accent so other Chicanas would believe that I spoke Spanish too.

Balboa Park Botanical Gardens

View from the Botanical Gardens

Barrio Logan had Chicano Park, an ode to my heritage, but especially to a community that was literally bulldozed and still withstands, with a beautiful celebration (almost) every year, and la Virgen at the center of it.

La Virgen the Guadalupe shining in Chicano Park, Barrio Logan San Diego, CA

San Diego gave me my Spanish back, the start of my devotion, and the expectation of color in a city unafraid to express itself.

Back to Chandler, High School

We came back to Chandler, AZ. It’s cheaper than CA. I hadn’t forgotten 115 degree days. It was a typical high school, although apparently most American high schools do not have outside hallways. I was a typical high school student, although apparently most high school students don’t get suspended and also become valedictorian. Oops.

Back to Wellesley, College

I went back to Wellesley, and found out that I was more Arizonan than I even knew. 40 degrees hit for the first time that fall, and my new friend from Maine laughed at my Arizona winter jacket, beanie, and scarf, while all she was wearing was two thin layers. I had always remembered the snow, but I had not remembered the cold. I re-remembered really quick since I would once again go through a record-breaking winter, the likes of which has not been seen since I had last lived in MA. I learned to check what the weather “feels like'' before stepping outside, since it could be a 10 degree difference from what it initially says. Waking up to “it feels like -12 degrees” on the morning of finals was a “this might as well happen” moment.

Alums get tattoos of these lamps, and there's truly none quite like them

I discovered for myself that the town of Wellesley, particularly residents that are not associated with the college, is rude. Were the white librarians at the Free Public Library rude to me because I was brown, or because I was a student? Neither helped the other, so probably both. Regardless, driving past the library to go outside of the town of Wellesley never failed to make me laugh, with doors to liquor stores being immediately after the town line sign on either side (it's dangerous to take photos while driving, so unfortunately proof will not be provided here). Yet, Wellesley is no longer a fully dry town, supposedly.

I got to explore Boston again for myself, sometimes taking the risk to do so alone. Somehow, I found a best friend and a partner who are both from New York City, both hate Boston, and both especially hate the T. I keep telling them that they do NOT understand what it’s like to live in a city with no actual public transportation - looking at you, Phoenix - but I will admit that the green line’s screeches give me the worst headaches.

My first spring semester there, in the middle of winter, I met the first person I would fall in love with. It was over in 7 weeks. I profusely thank my roommate for putting up with me for the whole year, but especially during that time. I am also profusely thankful for the harsh winter, since it prompted the trees in the Quint to produce the most beautiful pink magnolias, the branches heavy with them, overpouring into my broken teenage heart, y me encontre enamorada - I found myself in love. Pink magnolias will be joining my body as a tattoo on my upper right arm.

I had never seen pink magnolias before, and this only happened my first and senior years.

Back to Chandler, Breaks

During my visits back to my family, “home” was Chandler, AZ. Again. But my eyes were new. I had forgotten how beautiful the sunsets could be, reflecting off of pink clouds. I realized that cactuses are truly unique. Cactuses are in fashion now, but I have a certain pride in knowing that I grew up around them, with scattered lessons about Arizona and its wildlife in the scattered times I lived there. Did you know a saguaro doesn’t grow its first arm until it’s 50 years old?

I have seen tumbleweeds and roadrunners in action. I have been surrounded by mountains. I have seen my house swallowed by duststorms, or haboobs if you want to use the Sudanese word we locals tend to use. Yes, we giggle too. This ends up being an ode to Chandler, AZ, which is still beige, but not as cookie-cutter as I thought.

This is all dust! Taken within 10 minutes of each other.

If you’ve ever seen NBC’s The Good Place, the main character Eleanor Shellstrop is from Arizona. A lot of jokes are made about her poor upbringing, both in income and in character, with many jokes focused on Arizona. I like to say that even though none of the jokes are true, they are real. My parents definitely live close to a cluster of flat-earthers, which is not surprising by Arizona standards.

There are more...

So, in college, realizing that I am actually more Arizonan than I had cared to admit, a Saguaro cactus flower came into play with my tattoo idea. Their bloom is the most elegant of all, and the most welcomed. You treasure flowers that much more when they are not abundant or common - Mulan (1998), paraphrased.

My first spring living in Wellesley as a 1st grader, I called my first friend - the one from Tempe - to tell her that we had tulips in our front yard. I asked her if she had ever seen flowers bloom in AZ. She said yes, but I insisted, “No, actual ones!” I didn’t realize that Arizona has actual flowers. Deserts are forgotten as beautiful. Apparently it was a lesson that my ancestors from the Southwest needed me to learn, so we kept coming back to Arizona.

Now

I currently work in California. I might be the most annoying person in my office, for many reasons, but mostly because when most of my co-workers get cold at 60 degrees, I say “You don’t KNOW cold!” while remembering -12 degrees in Wellesley. Or when they feel hot at 85 degrees, I say “You don’t KNOW hot!” while remembering 115 degrees, or at least 105, in Chandler. I have lived at both extremes, and I want my body to remember both, so I can continue to assert my dominance.

Hometowns, featuring thrice

The current iteration of my moving pattern, tracing my finger in the air quickly as I recite them: Massachusetts-California-Arizona-Massachusetts-Arizona-California-Arizona-Massachusetts-California. Or, perhaps easier, I have lived in three states thrice.

Hometowns are where you cannot deny that they helped shape your worldview. I cannot deny that my body craves the human and natural siblinghood of Wellesley, the color of San Diego, or the warmth of Chandler. Therefore, I say thank you to the rosy edges of these memories in pink magnolias, pink sidewalks, and pink clouds, that never failed to remind me of all kinds of beauty.

I did not refer to these places by their relation to Indigenous peoples because I did not experience them as such, but I would like to acknowledge that Wellesley is on Massa-adchu-es-et lands, San Diego is on Kumeyaay lands, and Chandler is on O'odham lands.

humanity
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About the Creator

Ariana GonBon

26yo bi Xicana. There's always more to write about, in more interesting ways than white men. Follow me @arte.con.ariana, all tips will go to @openyrpurse, both on Instagram.

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