One year ago, on Independence Day, I awoke at a youth hostel jetting out on a battery over Fort Mason in San Francisco. Simon from Brighton and myself packed out backpacks for the day and headed out, via bus, up to California Street and then down along Market. The morning was spent at Coit Tower, high atop the City on Knob Hill. The Transamerica Pyramid behind us was covered in fog, and so was the Golden Gate Bridge to our left. But we could still make out Alcatraz.

That day I ate lunch in Chinatown, and had chicken and jasemine rice wrapped in seaweed, and a beverage. I stopped along the street and watched an old Chinese man swearing at the sidewalk, urging America to repent of their sins and turn to God.

Further down via a Streetcar, I walked back to the wharf and took my time appreciating where I was. I visited the barge where they filmed the early seasons of “Nash Bridges,” and I walked down Hyde Street Pier to the very end, amazed at the wind that gusted into the Bay from the Pacific, and even more amazed at the giant wall of wispy fog that slowly ate the Marin Highlands.

I walked back down the wharf, as the bus service had stopped due to the large crowd gathered for that night’s fireworks. I past Aquatic Park and Ana Mandera and walked along the retaining wall back up to the Fort, and stopped to write myself a poem in the cold sun. That day I did laundry, and between loads, became drunk on free red wine provided by the Hostel, and drank my share along with Simon and Sebastian from Brussels. Sebastian and I then walked to the lower fort to the Safeway that sat on the Marina’s edge, and we bought more beer and wine.

That night, when thousands of locals and tourists gathered below us to watch the colors erupt, we simply remained in the hostel’s backyard, on the battery, and soaked in the moment. We bled love and freedom that day, all of us. Late that night in Golden Gate Park, all of us merry from the day’s festivities, we realized a Palastinian and an Israeli youth were both sharing our room. They fought, they argued, and we intervined. Brussels talked with Palastine, and America and England talked with Israel, then Israel spoke with Pakistan. That night, back in the room, two stories below the ground, peace was found.