Some days I have two mornings.

These visions come in the first:

landscapes that can’t fit in the mind

yet feel familiar;

Shh...coming soon

On the first day of college orientation, I arrived in San Francisco on a plane from LA. I had just moved out of my parents’ house back in my hometown in Sapporo, Japan, so I had been staying with my aunt and uncle in LA, who were helping me set my life up in the US.

I arrived on campus by myself with two giant suitcases, which I ended up hauling everywhere because I had no idea where anything was. I remember finally discovering the dorms, only to find out that I needed to turn back around to the student center so I could get an ID to move in.

After running around all day, I finally managed to get myself and the two suitcases up to the sixth floor to my new dorm room. I met one of my roommates in her family, who kindly took me to Target so I could get a pillow and blanket to sleep in that night. I think they offered me to go to dinner with them, but I was quick to say No thank you, out of politeness.

But when darkness fell, and I found myself completely alone and an unfamiliar space, I remembered that I was hungry.

Suddenly, I felt extremely helpless. I didn’t know how to get food. No car license, no phone with apps or a laptop with internet. Honestly I barely knew how to use US money. I was beyond exhausted and didn’t want anymore new experiences that day. So I was quick to give up on the idea of venturing out in search for dinner.

My stomach was growling. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a small snack. I had bought it in Japan weeks ago, and had saved it through the plane ride and during my stay in LA. As I ate it, I felt my throat closing up.

Everything felt still and quiet. Was anybody even in this building tonight?

I think it was still relatively early in the evening when I crawled into my unfamiliar bed. I tried really hard to find comfort in the new blanket and the pillow that smelled like plastic.

Eventually, my fatigue helped me fall into a deep sleep.

My husband Frankie and I were on a deserted beach and we were the only two people in sight. Frankie fell asleep on the beach pretty quickly, and I’m a huge ocean lover and a big swimmer and I just love being on the beach and I decided I was going to go swimming by myself, even though I know you’re not supposed to do that in the ocean…um, but I went down anyway and there was a big drop in the sand, so when you’re at the water, you can’t see anyone up on the beach so I couldn’t even see Frankie, and I just spent 30 minutes to an hour just diving in and out of waves and singing and dancing and it was just so amazing and I just felt like I owned the whole world and the whole ocean and it was so magical and a little bit of fear and danger I think added to the excitement, and it was just a really special moment that I’ll never forget.

So a few years ago, I decided to go solo camping, and I found this beautiful spot by the Russian River. I was just settling into my cozy sleeping bag, a little scared of being alone in the dark woods, when I heard these heavy footsteps outside my tent.

I couldn’t tell if these footsteps were from a human or from a different large animal but I could tell that they were heavy the way they hit the ground. Everything froze in space and in time, except my brain that was forming its plan.

What would I do if it was a human?

Scream. Spray my pepper spray.

What would I do if it were a mountain lion.

Scream. Spray my pepper spray.

I didn’t know which one I would rather it be. Both had their dangers in different ways. I heard these steps come right up next to my tent. My heart was pounding.

Then the steps moved over to where my food was kept – non-human for sure, I determined. I heard these scratches and large claws into the wood food box. I was listening so hard, my ears felt like they extended 10 feet from my body.

Eventually, the campsite became quiet once again, and I managed to fall asleep.

The roads
we walk
With a whip I caught time’s lip.
It held steadfast to eyelash tip.
This was years ago, around the time I moved back from school. I was staying at my parent’s house in Daly City at the time, and sleeping in their living room.
– They have these large bay windows at the front of the house where you can sit and if you look down the street, you can see all the way to the ocean –
So that morning I woke up; it was really early, like four or five AM. The house was still quiet, and it was foggy out.
I was sitting there, staring out that window, when all of a sudden, there was this muffled crack sound, and right where my eyes were, this huge tree fell and crashed into the street. And it was such a surprise that it felt like
  I was already forgetting about it the moment that it happened,
and all that was left were these, you know, two parallel streams of thought and one was: whoa, what would’ve happened if someone were driving or walking under there, thank goodness the street was empty
…but there was this other one that was almost outside of myself and outside of the present moment that was so certain that I was the only person who saw that happen and that trying to share this memory with someone was going to be like trying to describe a color I once saw in a dream.
when I’m
The site will open in . Come alone.
The roads we walk together

The Roads We Walk Together is a multimedia dance project that asks four contemporary dancers to imagine the long walk home. Over the course of the project, the dancers will transform the prompt into choreography, text, and video through remote collaboration.

An ongoing video installation is viewable 24/7 at 1065 Mission in San Francisco. The dancers will perform live in the space as part of a culminating event and celebration.

Performance date to be announced; Watch this space, or sign up for updates.

The Roads We Walk Together is a multimedia dance project that asks four contemporary dancers to imagine the long walk home.

The website is open from 5:00 pm to 5:00 am daily.

An ongoing video installation is viewable 24/7 at
1065 Mission in San Francisco.

conception, direction, writing

Tamara Chu

dancers, photography

Ayana Yonesaka
Elena Martins
Jesse Wiener
Tamara Chu


Daniel Lucas & Tamara Chu

support provided by
a project
1065 Mission St,
San Francisco, CA