Waiting, for me, signifies expectation, anticipation, and the hope that something big is about to come my way. It’s the thrill of breathlessness and the unsettling uncertainty that makes waiting so much painful and yet pristine at the same time. There’s tension in the air and friction in the molecules all around us, and a mystery waiting to unfurl. That’s what I felt while walking down these Pleasanton suburbs. It was at around 7 am and not a cricket was astir. The entire place awaited the buzz of human existence.
In the distance, behind the shadows of these beautiful buildings stood a woman on her porch ready to scare away unwelcome trespassers. Perhaps I appeared too touristy to her, but she ignored my presence and glanced right through me—as if I wasn’t there. Oh, but I was, and I have this picture as a reminder.