Looking back, it was a fortunate twist of events that we were all back home this summer. But there was nothing to do in our suburban neighborhood, so we finally embraced the quintessential adventure of our youth, trading the familiar comforts of home for an exhilarating beachside escape. My friends and I were attempting to salvage some semblance of joy during a difficult time we were all facing, and one of us kindly offered their home for some “girl therapy” time. In that dimly lit backyard, we toasted to three years of friendship, popped a bottle of champagne, and reminisced countless memories under that fading evening light. We talked about everything we could think of—our crazy teenage stories, college experience, updates on our love lives, and more. We scrambled to find some snacks to munch on and yapped our night away. I was enjoying a pack of gummy bears, and as my fingers grazed over the (unfortunately) hardened gummies, I got stung by a bee pretty bad (lol). I was about to go to the clinic when my friend’s mother hurriedly pulled me into her room and helped me alleviate the pain. I watched her as she carefully cleaned the area with soap and water to prevent any infection and placed a cold pack on my neck. There was a teary silence when I was with her as I found myself reminiscing about my own mother residing back in Hong Kong.

When I think about home, it comes to me in flashes of deep feeling, images of a life it feels I had never lived, even if I know I once had. Hong Kong is my childhood home and that will never change, but a bittersweet ache hangs over me when I think of this city. It lingers over all my memories from that chapter of my life. The city I once cherished felt foreign to me. Depending on who you ask, Hong Kong is a place in which to stay, or to leave, due to political unrest. When I moved to the Bay Area in 2016, I remember, for the years between 2015 to 2018, I saw numerous departures from the city on British visas, destined for lives in places called London, Nottingham, and Scotland. Nobody chose the Bay Area because Hong Kong follows the British education system, so it was inherently a more compatible path. And some families hold BNO (a UK immigration program for Hong Kong people that allows BNO holders and their families to live, work, and study in the UK) after the handover of Hong Kong from Britian to China in 1997. I didn’t think much of the US to be honest. All we knew was that Hong Kong’s autonomy was gradually getting stripped away and the government would reform its education system into a more restrictive curriculum soon, so I needed to leave. We were all pre-teens when we left home for abroad, but most of us who left the city insisted, resolutely, that they would stay. But what are the stories of people who leave a place only to never come back? 

Now in San Francisco, twenty-two-year-old me was reveling in independence. I fell in love with days of endless exploration, spontaneous adventures, and late-night conversations that stretched until dawn. Each morning promised new experiences—something I did not have in Hong Kong. Because of how rigorous and competitive the Hong Kong education system is, there is little to no time for kids to explore interests at their own will or foster individuality outside of school. Every day is repetitively, and overwhelmingly, packed with homework and mandatory extracurricular activities. I remember how exhausted my legs would feel every night, sometimes even aching in pain, because of how intensely packed my day-to-day schedule was that the only time I got to rest was bedtime. They seriously drill you hard over there. It is no joke, but we did not complain about it because that was the norm and it was also all we knew. Here, there was a thrill in making decisions for myself. I embraced the freedom to chart my own course, savoring every moment with my friends and activities I enjoy, and weaving together dreams and memories that would last a lifetime. As much as I enjoyed this vibrant tapestry of life, I found myself lost. I did not feel content. I felt disconnected from home and could not resonate with the lifestyle my parents were having and they could not relate to mine either. I figured I needed to go back to Hong Kong at some point because no matter how fulfilling it is to live a life filled with so much freedom and independence, I missed the deep connections and cultural roots that defined my upbringing.

***

The next morning after our girl's night, we drove to the beach to watch the sunrise spontaneously. The car was eerily quiet, I believe all of us were half awake and coffee was our only savior. haha. 

As we pulled into the parking lot, the first hints of dawn began to paint the sky in soft pastels. In a way, the muted colors reflected our sleepiness. We threw ourselves out of the car and sprinted down toward the beach. As the sun began to paint the San Francisco horizon in soft purple hues, I realized that this was home. And home was beautiful. Elated by the scenery, we played some Indie songs on our iPhone speakers, but the flimsy soundtrack did not bother us at all. “Okay, this is worth it,” one friend finally said, a smile breaking across her sleepy face. We all nodded in agreement. My friends and I wrapped ourselves in blankets and settled onto the cold sand, and as the sun climbed higher, we simply sat there in silence. The warmth of the sun seemed to breathe life back into us, we began to feel more like ourselves; Life seemed to pause around us, allowing us to soak in the moment while the salty breeze ruffled our hair. The air was cool and crisp with a faint scent of saltiness, tinged with the sweetness of nearby wildflowers that swayed gently in the breeze. Hours melted away as we spilled blocks of laughter and relief, the first any of us had had in a while.

What I had not felt in a long time was being at home. I vividly remember the sunrises in Hong Kong. Back then, I would climb onto one of my childhood friend’s rooftops in Repulse Bay with her when we felt stressed from school. There, Repulse Bay is one of the few places where the sky is not blocked by skyscrapers, but instead a serene view of the Repulse Bay beach with a backdrop of buildings towering behind it, a scene that seems impossible to exist in this overpopulated and crazy concrete jungle. We would sit together on the rooftop, sharing dreams and laughter as the city came alive around us.

Here, at this moment, I felt that same connection—an unspoken bond with the past and present: the same joy of being with friends who understood me. I watched the sunrise intertwine the experiences of San Francisco with the cherished memories of my childhood—both of which shape me into who I am. “Home is actually so beautiful,” I finally said, “I am so happy this is home.”

***

Writing this, I guess, comforts me. As I’ve grown up, the lingering hope for temporariness dissipates. Instead of wanting fleeting moments or phases in life to end, I began to accept them and recognize their value. I used to separate my identities of Hong Kong and San Francisco because of how vastly different I have changed after moving here. This caused me to constantly fight about what version of myself I want to be when in reality, every phase of your life is a thread in making who you are. Each sunrise, whether it be in Hong Kong or San Francisco, was equally beautiful, carrying with it their unique beauty and significance that resonates with two parts of my identity, and there was no need to separate them. 

The five of us stared into the horizon as we shivered lightly against the morning air. One of us pulled out a "We're Not Only Strangers" card set from her tote bag, and we immediately burst into laughter, playfully teasing her about being the ever-prepared "mother" of our group. It was a running joke, but there was a warmth in her thoughtful gesture that made us feel cherished. Hours melted away as we huddled together, sharing our dreams and fears, the questions on the cards prompting deeper conversations that flowed effortlessly as we took this opportunity to learn more about each other. Then, another friend suggested that we should walk near the water. Initially, we were all hesitant, exchanging wary glances and chuckling at the chilly prospect, but we’re young so why not? “Fuck it, let’s do it,” was all we needed to hear to spur us into action. With a mix of laughter and shivers, we leaped to our feet and raced toward the waves as the cool sand slipped beneath our toes. Standing at the shoreline, the waves rolled in cold and inviting. It was seriously so cold. I remember running backward whenever the chilly water enveloped our feet, and that cold, invigorating feeling would pull us back into the shoreline. “Come on, deeper!” one friend yelled. We waded further in, the water now swirling just a couple of inches from our knees, a regal blue stretching out before us, each wave lapping our legs, reminding us of our youth and the carefree spirit that came with it. We felt more alive, more connected—not just to the ocean, but to each other in a way that was both exhilarating and comforting. Something about spontaneous activities and running wild barefoot on the beach with your friends screams youth. The freedom of that moment, filled with laughter and ignited spirit, felt timeless. We were all fully present, forgetting the worries of our everyday lives even if it was only for a short while. I don’t think any of us will ever forget this day. Somewhere in the haze of our hectic mundane lives, nothing mattered at that moment because we were there for each other. 

***

It is easy to get caught up in reminiscing, to wonder what life could have been had I made different choices. For me, it has always been “What if I never left the city? Would my parents be happier with who I am? Would I be more successful? Would life be simpler without a cultural difference in values between me and them?” These thoughts used to weigh me down and I would find myself wandering through those decrepit bookstores lining the margins of Lower Pacific Haights, San Francisco, hoping to find words to describe my situation. Maybe there would be stories of the past that I could turn to, I once thought. But how ignorant was I for thinking that way? Dwelling on the past in constancy displaced my ability to appreciate the present. Nostalgia is a tricky feeling haha. It often brews a sense of loss or missed opportunity—a feeling that, instead of guiding me toward clarity, keeps me trapped in a cycle of “what ifs.” 

So, as I write this, I feel a sense of lightness. I am learning to let go of the never-ending “what could have been”s. The richness of your journey not only lies in the events you partake in, but also the acceptance of all its phases—the blissful ignorance of youth, the chaos and confusion of adulthood, and everything in between. 

It’s this blend of experiences in Hong Kong and San Francisco that shaped my understanding of home, identity, and belonging. I am constantly asked whether I want to move back to Hong Kong for good. I know they want what’s best for me, but the weight of their question felt like a pendulum swinging between two worlds. I answer honestly: I won’t be going back to Hong Kong. Not yet, at least, and not soon. There are real reasons behind this choice. They stem from an entirely different life.

But, in the end, now that I’ve said it all, I still feel like I’ve given something up. Without a fight, I can’t describe exactly what it is, but I know it relates to my home city and the time I spent there.

But a part of me will always be in Hong Kong. I know—with a certainty so cemented it has never once crossed my mind to doubt it—where I stand.  

I am learning to celebrate each sunset and sunrise now. I love it when the sky turns pink. I love it when its warm glow reflects on our faces. I love watching the city transform under that soft, caressed light, almost as if the world is being wrapped in a warm embrace. (Ugh I just. love. sunsets. man.) The blend of colors in the sky is always changing. Some days it’s pastel pink, some days it’s golden orange, and some days you don’t see it at all. And just like the phases in your life that are constantly changing, nothing stays the same; everything is in flux and that’s okay. Letting these experiences blend you into who you are is applaudable. It is beautiful.

If you made it this far, I hope you discover that true fulfillment comes not from comparisons or regrets or what you did/did not do, but from living authentically in the moment. The memories of your past will always hold significance, but they do not define you. They serve as stepping stones guiding you toward the person you are becoming. And I hope that whatever you are unable to let go of from the past does not weigh you down, but rather becomes a source of strength and wisdom. Embrace those experiences. Embrace all your phases, both the joyful and painful, as vital parts of your journey. Do not feel bad about a certain stage in your life for whatever reason you have (whether you’re upset at yourself or someone, something, somewhere… anything). Keep finding purpose in your current life right now and move forward. And… Last but not least, do what excites. Apply that to as many aspects of your life as you can. Choose a career path that fulfills you, and that excites you. Find hobbies that get you excited and motivated. Be around people who you enthusiastically look forward to being with. Yada yada yada… 

I also realized how important it is to surround yourself with people who uplift you. Choose your circle wisely. Choose people who connect deeply with you, who can inspire you to chase your dreams, and encourage you to step out of your comfort zone. Choose people who celebrate your victories and support you through challenges. Choose people who genuinely care about your emotions and check up on you. After navigating through these years of adolescence, I can very confidently tell you that your social circle is one of the most influential aspects of your life. I am very grateful to my friends for picking up my slight sorrow/discontentedness the night we drank champagne in the backyard, doing everything they could to take me somewhere where I could find some sort of peace, and relentlessly showing up for me and giving me advice without me asking.

:) :) thank you, you guys know who you are. i am so lucky to have y’all. :) :) 

Now, I will be looking forward. I think it’s fair to say that we all experience some sort of trauma or regret from the past or anxiety about the future. I mean- this life thing is not easy. I am currently 22 and I still have no idea what I am doing, to be frank with you. But that’s okay. Life is not something you need to figure out, it is something you strategize and experience. There is no answer to how to live your life. Your 20s are meant to be confusing. It is meant for identity exploration, career changes, and shifting relationships—while trying to figure out who you are and what you want. This is how you grow, so keep living and learning and you will do just fine.

Best wishes,

Christa