since the semester finally came to a close, I decided to skip out on going back to los angeles for a few days and kick back in berkeley. so on my first morning being free, still accustomed to all the sleepless nights during the last week, I was full of that rare morning energy and I decided to dust off the old camera and prowl the streets.
on this morning telegraph was still showing signs of life, as the street-sleepers began waking-up while the sunlight slowly broke across town. I let my visual senses take over and drowned out all other audible sound with some david bowie tracks (can't get enough that rebel, rebel) and I descended onto Sproul Plaza, which was pretty much dead with the the exception of some zombie lookin' students scattered about. while I was surveying the landscape, I noticed the student fountain was full of bubbles. something different today, eh? guess I picked the right time to come. I started snapping pictures, different angles and what not, half experimenting and half attempting to shake off this photographer rust. berkeley has a different feel to it once you don't have the burden of classes weighing on your shoulders.
while I pointed my viewfinder towards this bubble bath in the middle of Sproul, a man jumped in front of my view and started posing. I kept taking pictures for a few moments with him vogueing-out, until he walked up to me and began talking. his excitement made me laugh as he began throwing his fists in the air and shadow boxing an unseen opponent while he cryptically spoke in muddled words; his punches moved swiftly like blades through the air.
under his breath, with each jab I heard "Ali... Tyson... Will Smith." in those brief moments, it seemed he didn't remember I was there; he was totally immersed in his story, reenacting in front of me the very images going through his mind. I couldn't help but feel his energy while he stood there in front of me, it even led me to imagine him knockin-out Ali or Tyson as he so passionately believed he had done.
I nodded approvingly at his mumbled story, yet intrigued by him, I asked for one more picture. without my direction, he triumphantly curled both his arms into the sky, flexing his hidden muscles. He shot back at me with a proud smile and eyes that glistened brighter than the already radiant morning sky we both stood in. I took the photo and he proceeded to walk away while I waved to him. a champion in disguise that walked the streets of berkeley, who would of guessed?
As the boxer trailed away, he looked back.
"Ali... Tyson... Will Smith..."
I spent the next hour walking around campus, taking pictures of architecture and nature, getting my dora-the-explorer on through the scenery I hadn't had the chance to investigate during the busy semester. yet, for that hour and the rest of the day, the mysterious boxer stayed on my mind. each time he crossed my mind, I was reminded of the many surprises that life may have in store.
here at berkeley, you can run into many different types of people. some passive, maybe cheerful, needy, or angry. on telegraph, I've mostly run into the latter. that morning excursion brought me a sense of amazement and delight; a reason why I decided I would go again the next morning.
another sleepless night followed. I gave up on sleeping around 5:30 am, cooked breakfast (alright, maybe not that one...), and grabbed my camera again for round two. I left significantly earlier this time, in part of my insomnia, and an urgency to get some dope morning shots. as I walked down telegraph through the freezing air, I stood on the corner of telegraph and durant and looked northward down the street, hoping my eye would come across something. but this "something" walked up to me, asking for seventy-five cents for an early morning beer.
I gave him the only dollar I had on me.
"you taking photos?" he said.
"yeh, trying to see what I can come up with"
"that's cool man, I'm an artist too"
a little humbled he referred to me as an artist, I asked what he did,
"paint and poetry, that's what I do. you got to have something you like doing, can't be inside all the time like a lot of people nowadays." the guy had more to him than met the eye, "that's good you're doing photography. people never stop to see the small things that have beauty around this place. everyone is always so busy, doing what you do can help expose them to all of it"
I told him I agreed, perhaps more for the overall medium of photography than my own work, but the poet was right.
"it's a beautiful morning, do you want to hear a morning poem?" he asked me.
I instantly said yeah, eager to see if this guy would spoil or surpass my expectations. a little prejudice? maybe... but a morning poem just like that? yeah right, this dude?
he then recited one of the most beautiful poems I've heard from anyone, let alone simply off the top of one's head. if only I could echo this back poem to you, the imagery he expressed was straight impressive. I asked if I could take a picture of him and he obliged. thus, I had my best, and most meaningful, shot of the day. 
so I parted from my new friend, who told me his name was Sunny, and was left to think about his poem, his message and who he was. as open to the world as I thought my eyes were before that moment, a perspective I never imagined before here on telegraph was now at my feet. the street now seemed illuminated. from the past two mornings, it just seemed there were more to the people who I usually just walk by everyday on my way to class.
I told my friend Paul about my experience with Sunny later on, and he said exactly what I had been feeling:
"Berkeley has a heartbeat that is unlike any place I have ever been, it's in this gorgeous contrast"
between the grime, dirt, and sadness that can inject itself into the streets of the city through its homelessness and crime, there are still reasons to be proud. no, these are not reasons you will discover by quietly taking a casual glance at the scenery. you have to walk the streets, know them, and they will illustrate themselves to you. the poet was right.
here on telegraph and the area connecting it, they are more than simple streets. they are another world.
