When I was maybe seven or eight or even 10 my Dad travelled to California for work. I have a foggy memory of giddily begging him to take a photo of the Hollywood sign for me, in that moment so excited that he was actually going to get to see it through his eyes. That my Dad was going to Hollywood.
Back then, I don’t think I could’ve articulated why it was so interesting to me and why I needed a photo of it so badly. I’d seen it on TV, in films, in photos in books, of course. But when I think about it now, I realise it’s because no one I knew had been to America. No one I knew had been to California. My Dad was the only person who could attest to the Hollywood sign really being there. He was the only person who could confirm that what I’d seen on TV, in films, in photos in books was actually something that could be seen. That the world was really out there, really a living breathing functioning magical thing that could be seen and had and felt.
I’ve been to California twice now, once in 2009 during a hard time and again last week during a hard time, and whenever I’d see it from a taxi or from the street, always there suddenly, appearing over the top of things or between things, my arms would tingle, my stomach would jump.
And on my last day, Kira slowed the car in traffic so I could have my own photo of it, so I too would have proof of the tangibility of it all. So I too could confirm that these things I’d seen on TV, in films, in photos in books, in and through other people, this magical world, they’re all real. Sometimes they’re distant and barely in focus but they’re really there to be seen and had and felt.