Here I am on the 7:30 p.m. shuttle from Tempe, pulling into the city I hate so dearly. Growing up in Phoenix, it starts to seem as though the sun-bleached sidewalks and beige stucco buildings could go on forever, before stopping at the edge of the world. The novelty of L.A.'s influence is gone before it can even wear off.
Tonight isn't so bad though. It's a Saturday in the middle of March and spring's flowers are thawing out from the barren winter I just had. The sky is stained with shades of blue and purple and the city lights are glimmering brighter and faster as the bus approaches them. I feel electric.
Since birth, my life has felt like a constant push and pull between stagnant and manic. Happy and melancholy. Heaven and Hell. Through it all, one thing has remained constant – I can't live without romanticizing the f--- out of it.
One summer in high school, I watched "Lost in Translation" every day for two weeks straight. The film's central feeling has lingered in the back of my head since the first time I played it. From sitting in awe on my living room floor at 16, amidst a maddening quarantine, to 20, and a sophomore in college, I've never related to the core of a movie more.
Scarlett Johansson's character Charlotte silently meanders through Tokyo, gazes up at the giant neon skyscrapers to the tune of "Sometimes" by My Bloody Valentine, and runs through the midnight streets, hand in hand with another lost soul she met, all while unsure if her husband even cares about her existence. She's surrounded by so many people and yet feels alone.
The themes of isolation, feeling so much smaller than the world and being filled with uncertainty, yet excitement are universal, but somehow the way they’re depicted in Sofia Coppola's 2003 film is so personal to me.
I haven't rewatched it since last summer, but I still use it as a bible in a sense. Instead of Japan, sunny Arizona is my backdrop. The Westward Ho is my Tokyo Skytree and in lieu of Shibuya Crossing, I have the billboards on the side of the I-10 to look up at.
In my moments of melancholia, when the world feels heavy on my shoulders and the sky is dark, it's nice knowing eventually the clouds will part. But for now, I'll wade around. Some would call it wallowing, or even drowning, but I like the floating in between where I can just feel.
Years from now, I'll look back on speeding through my neighborhood at 2 a.m. with my friends in the summertime or lighting fireworks so loud they shake the houses on New Year's Eve. I'll miss swimming with strangers, braiding my mom's hair and dancing at house parties. I'll even miss the stinging feeling in my throat when tears roll down my cheek because things got bad again.
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As I leave the shuttle, the spring air rushes around me and I can feel my tears dry. My heart is beating a little faster than usual and my walk through the park is soundtracked by children playing soccer on the recently seeded grass. After spring, it'll be summer and life will go on.
If being a romantic has taught me anything, it’s that being an actress in my own movie is not only how I cope, but how I live.
There's so much comfort in the idea that next time I’m heartbroken I could just flee to New York to marry a rich photographer and book a flight to Japan, where I would begin an emotional affair with a washed-up Hollywood star.
My life can flip upside-down and I can hit rock bottom over and over again, or I can move to Paris and start wearing sunglasses at night with Cartier bracelets stacked on both wrists. Whether I'm laying in a cold, unmade bed or spraying champagne from a penthouse balcony in London, I'll have something to glamorize — something to think and write and make art about.
"Does it get easier?" Charlotte asks Bill Murray's character, Bob, one night while they're lying side by side.
Charlotte feels stuck, unsure of what she wants to do and where she belongs in the world. She's afraid she's trapped in a marriage with someone who doesn't love or understand her.
"The more you know about who you are and what you want, the less you let things upset you," he responds.
I want to know who I am and I want to know what I want. I think I'll find it and I'm excited to search, whether it takes me from winter to summer, or Phoenix to Tokyo.
Edited by Sophia Braccio, Sophia Ramirez and Katrina Michalak.
Reach the reporter at njarret1@asu.edu and follow @nataliajarrett on X.
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Natalia is a sophomore studying journalism and mass communication. This is her fourth semester with The State Press. She has also worked as a politics reporter.
