Dear San Sebastian,
I love you. I have never taken as many photographs as the day I spent with you. I have never mastered the discreet, one-handed self-portrait like I did in front of you. Your beaches expand endlessly, blanketed with sun-kissed people--young, old, playing, tanning, dressed, or naked--they do not mind the voyeurs or the UV-rays. They live life, not worry about death. Imminent skin cancer has no meaning when you are bronze and beautiful. Possible head trauma evokes only laughter when the wind is grazing your unencumbered head, as you soar on a pastel Vespa, behind an equally beautiful bronze god. Oh, how I will miss fantasizing that I am one of them--your lucky people. One day, I will return to be one of them--bronze and beautiful, riding my moto, playing on your beach, enjoying the gaze of voyeurs like my former self, and never taking my own self-portraits.
Until then,
Sachi
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