Passage of Time
Photo by Ann Cook
What’s on my mind?
California College of the Arts will close after 100 years. This sad, unexpected news prompted me to think about the places that have shaped my life.
During the 1960s, I grew up in a single-wide in Oildale, California. Happy Acres Trailer Park, central to my childhood, still lingers in my memory with fondness. Those feral years have become a source of humor in my writing.
In 1972, we moved halfway around the world to Tarbela, Pakistan, where my father worked on building the world’s largest man-made dam. The shock was significant. Yet we adapted, finding our place in an unconventional, international community. Those were my tween years: my first crush on an English boy, a deep dislike for piano lessons, and spaghetti westerns with the Italians at the local cinema.
Boarding school in Murree was just three hours from Tarbela, but the winding road through the Himalayas made it feel much farther. Independence from my parents, having structure, and a close community were exactly what I needed to thrive. But leaving Pakistan during my sophomore year was a loss I felt for years.
My parents moved to southern Thailand to work on the Banglang Dam, while I went to boarding school in Penang, Malaysia. I lived on a beautiful tropical island. But I struggled socially and academically. Dalat School, to me, is the place that most defines my adolescent years, a time when I perfected the art of awkwardness. Graduation was a relief.
I returned to the U.S. for Bakersfield College, already a pro at dorm life, but academics still challenged me. My first date, my first low-paying job, my first homecoming game: all new, all exhilarating. Then, everything changed. I became an art major.
Transferring to art school in the Bay Area marked the beginning of my career as a graphic designer. And of course, I lived in the dorms. It was also the beginning of David and me. We celebrate 40 years of marriage this August. I graduated from the California College of the Arts with a degree in graphic design, and a future that felt bright, full of hope.
Each of these places marks a significant point in my life. They’re filled with memories that are part of me, yet feel separate from who I am today.
Which brings me full circle to my alma mater, soon to close. It feels as though the lights are being turned off one by one. StilI I remain. The constant. Holding a flickering candle.
Happy Acres Trailer Park was demolished last year. Recently, I looked through the chain-link fence at the concrete pad where my trailer once stood and felt a deep sense of loss for my childhood. Yet through the stories I've written, it's immortalized.
The Tarbela I knew and loved no longer exists, though the dam remains strong. Those of us who lived there as children will continue to connect on social media until we’re gone.
Murree Christian School was closed a decade ago after an attack by insurgents. Six people were killed. Today, the old British garrison church and the buildings of my school remain in good condition, yet inside, the lifeblood that once ran through its hallways is gone.
Photos of Dalat School shock me. The campus has undergone significant modernization, now surrounded by high-rise buildings. I don’t recognize it anymore.
Bakersfield College has changed over the years, yet it still feels familiar. My old dorm is now the campus security office. The boys' dorm was demolished to make way for an enormous library. There’s a three-story building where the housing office used to be. But despite all the changes, one thing remains: the tree where David and I carved our initials all those years ago.
Each place in my life marks the passage of time. My past selves fade. Still, I remain, holding my candle, feeling the weight of all those years.
