I’d heard that San Francisco was the New York City of the west coast. I’ve been in love with New York since before I went there, and I can safely say that San Francisco doesn’t hold anything in comparison. The people were mainly very rude and stuck up—it’s possible that I was just in the wrong areas though. I did love the vacation very much though. I had so much fun and was ready to move on to the next stop—Yosemite National Park. I saw trees of a new era, heights to set my soul on fire, and dangers (while climbing things I shouldn’t) that will keep my thrill odometer fuelled for a while. I climbed out over some rafting water stones. It was slippery and scary—if I would’ve fallen, I may have died. That’s the best kind of thrill. We saw trees that were as tall as fairy-tale giants, and many baby deer to light a smile on my face. The driving alongside 6000 feet cliffs were intimidating, but I loved it. Then the trek back to Los Angeles happened. Oh how I missed my city. I never realised how much it meant to me. It’s very special to me and I finally feel like it’s my home. Absence does make the heart grow fonder—I learned this with LA and a love. Te perfect trip ended in the perfect arms. I’m so lucky, I don’t deserve how beautiful life is—but at least I can appreciate it.