Viewpoint: Paradise Lost . . .A Note about Exile

(Editor’s note: Tahitian Terrace resident Krishna Thangavelu wrote this lovely piece. She, her neighbors and people who lived in Palisades Bowl, are really the forgotten Palisadians. These are people politicians don’t want to speak about because it wrecks the narrative of Pacific Palisades as a wealthy enclave, rather than as a neighborhood filled with seniors and those who have lived in homes passed down from their families.) 

By KRISHNA THANGAVELU

Many will remember the hustle and bustle of the Palisades Village, with shopping and kids … rushing here and there.  Few Palisadians even knew about two small communities across from Will Rogers Beach.

I found this community in 2008. I was commuting from Chatsworth to work at UCLA and I wondered if there might be a little apartment or condo closer to work.  Something modest and affordable.

There was this place that came up in my search, once an over 55 community. A little house. With a big view.

I had enormous buyer’s remorse. Mostly because it was a lot colder than the Valley.  My tropical genes protested. I worked long hours; I was barely home. I never saw the sunrise; I never saw the sunset. I never noticed the home’s southern exposure that would have let me enjoy both.

Until the pandemic.  When even the beach was locked down and going to gym was no longer an option. If I wanted to exercise … I would have to walk our little hill up to the fire road, winding along little roads that became springtime brooks and streams.

I began capturing moments with my phone camera, writing haiku about what I saw. I called them photo haiku. And I shared these on social media.  You can see them on my Instagram: @krishnafineart

I also painted the view, the flowers, the trees… the bougainvillea series, the leaf series, the luminous sunrises, the big sunsets. I claimed copyright and joked that Nature was copying me. The Sun was indulgent and visited “the studio” every day. We became friends and collaborators.

I had accidentally retired into Paradise.

And that was how it looked… my life. My home.  My hood. Exquisitely beautiful.

Neighbors would greet each other with a nod and an apology:  “Another beautiful day?” My neighbor Laura and I threw the first “Gratitude Party” — freshly baked peach pie for all.

I wandered our grounds daily … like a mystic … looking at this and that. Beauty above, beauty below, beauty all around.

In the midst of the pandemic … I found the palace grounds.

Not pictured here… the daily campaign to protect our parks and beaches from bad policy and bad politicians.  We won that battle only to lose the town this year …to bad policy and bad politicians.

From palace grounds to ashes. From mystic to exile from paradise.  I once lived in a modest little house on a hill with flowers and streams, and saw the sun rise and set over a peaceful bay. And I loved it with all my heart.