Back in Hanford, CA: Do Things Ever Change?

Last Saturday, I rented a car in Santa Monica and headed North. Past Burbank and Santa Clarita, I chose to keep going. I did not stop at Magic Mountain or along any of the beautiful places along the mountains. I was heading into the Central Valley. All the cars that were driving beside me finally got off the Highway and less and less people stayed on course north. And for good reason: why would anyone rather spend their Memorial Day weekend in Bakersfield or Fresno if they could also stay south of the Grapevine? The only reason I could think of was the one I had, driving to the “city” of Hanford, where I used to live, to revisit a life I had said goodbye to over a decade ago.

As Hanford was coming closer on the GPS, I no longer needed it. I started thinking about the last time I was in there; I couldn’t drive back then and cars didn’t have GPS. My own life had also not seen a lot of progress: I didn’t have any degrees, had not lived in Cairo or worked for either Amazon or Google. Or anyone, to be exact. I was only a few weeks into having had my first drink and I had just befriended this weird-looking guy called Conor. And although this sounds like a long time, I got off on 12th Avenue, drove over to Grangeville towards a very familiar house which had a poster up on the garage reading “Welcome Back Sina! We Missed You!”

Now well over 13 years ago, I asked my friends David and Daniel’s parents for help. I was facing homelessness during my senior year and needed a place to stay for a bits. The Medinas were part of my church and had allowed me to crash their family on occasions since they met me at one of the boys’ football games. At 16, I had made a T-Shirt for my favorite Husky football player, like every Hanford West Husky had. Mine was #50, Daniel Medina, their son. Knowing them now, it makes sense they loved me, because they loved everyone who liked their kids. But objectively, them loving me made no sense, and it still doesn’t. Although I didn’t stay with them then, they helped later when I was staying up every night to talk to them on the phone in the weeks after my father’s death. Relentlessly, they said prayers for me every night and invited me to spend Christmas with their family because mine had stopped existing.

I walked into the house on Saturday, where Hot Cheetos, my favorite PopTarts and a gallon of Sunny D were waiting for me. 13 years ago, I had written down all my favorite American treats on a post-it which Momma Medina had kept. Then we sat down and had a chat. Where do you even start after ten years? I had asked myself beforehand if it would be weird. Back in the day, they had referred to me as their daughter from Germany but lots had happened since. Maybe my eventful past with their son had made it weird, I thought. But it wasn’t weird. Love of a certain kind is not affected by time or events, and that is the love I feel for them. And now evidently, the love they feel for me.

The boys and I then hit “downtown Hanford”. I had spent virtually no time there in high school because other than the Farmers Market on Thursday nights and the best ice cream shop in town, downtown Hanford had nothing to offer, much like the rest of the city. Often referred to as Cowtown rather than its actual name, Hanford had not changed much. Only me. I was also above 21 for the first time, so we hit a bar and had a beer. A good day in Hanford is incomplete without a visit to La Fiesta, the best Mexican restaurant in the city. And another highlight was waiting for me as we returned to the house: Marcus, my bestie from high school, was joining us by the pool in the backyard where we had ice cream for dessert.

naps and dogs... like wow!

The next couple of days had more of the same. And although there is nothing new in the 559, being ten years older in the same place is a different experience. I witnessed my first Hanford thunderstorm with actual rain from the porch, went back to the mall that is now more like a retail ghost town (thanks, Amazon!) and visited my first Hanford bar where I got a buzz from one rum and coke for four dollars that tasted like straight rum. Americans! First and foremost, however, I felt a sense of achievement: last time I had been there I had dreamed about and imagined being an adult, now I was one.

At no point during my high school years in Hanford did I imagine my life would go the way it did. But hasn’t it been amazing? And how lucky am I to be able to come back to those small places that shaped me and still find people who love me. I often feel torn between wanting to be a small town person, but simply not really fitting into that life. But am I really a city girl instead? Where is the balance between London and Hanford? I love both and I could see my life, ten years from now, going either direction. Coming to Hanford made me see that, whatever the size, a place to call home just has to give you this feeling. And those people. And a good burrito.