A Taste of the Homeland-Sunnyvale, CA

Located in Northern California, about forty minutes south of San Francisco, Sunnyvale sits within the heart of Silicon Valley. Downtown Sunnyvale feels different depending on the day. On weekdays, the city wakes up early. Trains pass through downtown before the sun fully rises, their horns cutting through quiet neighborhoods. Commuters move quickly between trains, offices, and cars. The CALTrain is constantly passing through the center of the city; its presence is impossible to ignore.

On weekends, through, an electrifying energy fills the air as the commuter train makes a stop at Murphy station. Crowds of residents, all decked out in orange Giants game day gear from head to toe, crowd the train platform, squeezing through the opening doors in hopes of finding a seat for the ride ahead. These moments offer a refreshing contrast to the city’s otherwise car-oriented design and bustling pace. On Saturday mornings, the farmers’ market slows the space down, transforming the area into a gathering place. Streets are closed to cars to make room for vendors selling fresh produce, handmade crafts, and cultural foods. Familiar smells of fresh bread from local bakeries linger in the air while live music blares throughout the space. As I stroll down the rows of tents, I witness the overflow of cheerful exchanges of smiles from vendors and customers. People from different neighborhoods, each carrying distinct routines, accents, and histories, move through the same narrow pathways of the farmers' market. Naturally, the corners of my mouth turn upwards, as an endless radiating warmth, like sunshine, envelops my chest.

Sunnyvale is home to roughly 150,000 residents, comprised of predominantly Asian and Hispanic populations. Growing up there meant being surrounded by people who looked like me. This familiarity shaped how I understood community. Culture was not something I noticed only during celebrations or holidays because it existed in small, everyday choices. It could be felt the most in the supermarket. My mother and I would make our weekly grocery run at “Mi Ranchito”, the supermarket down the street. A row of produce stands stood packed together at the storefront. When I step into the market, a sense of belonging spreads within. No matter how often I go, I remain captivated by the colorful piñatas hanging from the ceiling. Rows of my favorite Mexican snacks, Marías, Churromais, and pan dulce, foods tied to my parents’ home country, line the aisles. Spanish is spoken casually between customers, echoing through the market alongside music blaring from the speakers.

That familiarity is not contained within the supermarket. Taco trucks sit at the corners of gas stations throughout the city, their grills hissing while cars pull in and out. The smell of meat, onions, and spices hangs in the air, stronger than gasoline. Small restaurants are scattered across neighborhoods, drifting scents into the street. These places are part of daily life. People stop by after work, between errands, or on the way home, making food a constant and shared experience from the farmers' markets to street tacos. Even though I have never set foot in the homeland, it is a place I know well.

These moments feel important because Sunnyvale is otherwise built for movement rather than gathering. The roads are wide, intersections are large, and traffic is constant. Driving is unavoidable. Still, the farmers’ markets and restaurants carve out spaces where the city feels smaller and more connected. Through food, language, and everyday habits, these places keep culture alive, turning a city built for movement into one shaped by memory and comfort. Even as Sunnyvale continues to evolve and change, the sense of community it has created remains constant.