REPORTER’S NOTEBOOK -- Young Chang

Thank you, Starbucks. Thank you, Chevron. Thanks to all the mini-malls

and franchises that make up the trimmings of my life.

Without all of you, I am lost.

I drove out to Chino Hills on Thursday morning.

I took a route called Carbon Canyon Road from my La Habra home and

ventured for miles and about 30 minutes down a snaking, sloped path

sandwiched between monster mountains that shaded the road an Alaskan

gray.

The greenery was really green, the horses chewed weeds.

For stretches of barren land -- not a construction crew in sight and

not one development in the works -- my shoulders tensed as I rounded the

infinite turns and hoped to no avail that a Starbucks or a McDonald’s or

even a gas station would assure me that I hadn’t wandered too far.

I was terrified. Lonely, suddenly, and craving the city sights that

bombard my senses every day. Am I really this urban? Am I really just a

sneeze away from allergic reactions to the world’s natural beauties minus

my daily luxuries?

I’m neither proud nor ashamed to admit it, but I think I am.

I began to wonder if I was lost. Chances were, I wasn’t. But I stopped

at the only sign of life on this deserted, pastoral road -- a liquor

store -- for a fleeting moment of human contact. It was open. It was 7:50

a.m.

The man behind the wooden counter was sympathetic. I made no sense,

explaining how I thought I might be lost but wasn’t sure but could he

point me the right way anyway. He took out a map, wrote in all caps where

I should make my lefts and rights and repeated everything twice.

I thanked him profusely before I left, happy just to see another soul

and relieved, pathetically, to see the same peanut butter Reese’s sticks

and fun-size Butterfingers I see every day in my urban 7-Elevens.

I arrived at my destination, did what I went there to do and rushed

back to my car. I thought for a second about how I should head to the

office, to Costa Mesa.

Do I whip out the Thomas Guide and continue to sit in the mountains of

Chino Hills while I try to figure the most practical path south?

Or do I just get the heck out?

My shoulders were still tense. My music was even off. I had nervously

eaten my way through a handful of chips and my fingers were cold.

I U-turned and headed back the way I came.

Back to streets lined with coffee shops, back to a world of honking

cars, back to the desensitizing, bittersweet urban scene I call home.

* YOUNG CHANG covers entertainment for the Daily Pilot.