Last night as I watched the sunset you see above and below, sitting on a patio overlooking English Bay, I thought again of what Leena had told me about San Francisco. A memorable evening for both of us, it saw us share some of the most difficult and personal memories we have. Talking with a woman I had met only hours earlier, it was an unexpected connection.

In town for an annual research and treatment conference, I, an HIV researcher, spent three days immersed in the latest science, prevention, and support findings. Meeting people like Leena, a qualitative researcher, added depth to my experience. She focused on working exclusively with women who contracted HIV from rape or abuse, while my field revolved around HIV, PTSD, and stigma. Despite our different areas of expertise, we shared a common approach—a narrative model of inquiry that centered on the individual and community stories of HIV.

During our conversation, not surprisingly, we found ourselves discussing various topics and discovered many things in common. One such shared interest was our fascination with sunrises and sunsets. For both of us, these daily phenomena held profound meaning, intricately tied to the remembrance of loss caused by HIV. It was a poignant realization.

Leena, originally from San Francisco, spoke about how HIV had torn her city apart, leaving scars and wounds in its wake. However, she also expressed how, strangely enough, it became the shared history that brought the community together, fostering healing and growth.

Inspired by Leena's words, last night as I watched the sunset, its vibrant hues painting the sky above and below, I couldn't help but reflect on the impact of HIV and how it intertwines with our lives.