A Horse is Not a Home

Travelling so much in such a short amount of time really made me reflect on where my home is. And after much reflection, I came to face the cold reality, which is that I do not have a home.

In my 18 yrs of living, I have never lived in one place for more than 6 years. My 6 yrs or so at Walnut was the longest duration of time I have ever spent in one place. Since birth I had been travelling from place to place, wandering and flying, I recall laying on the soft cushion of an airplane and feeling like home. By the age of 7, I had more than 200,000 miles of flying under my belt, if only the benefits for frequent fliers extended to those under 16, I would have been a Gold Member fosho.

Before turning 10, I had lived in Beijing for 4 years, Foshan for 2 years, Xinjiang for 2 years, and countless temporary stays in hotels of various major cities for weeks when it was short and months when it was long. I didn’t know what home was, books brought me ephemeral escape from the unattached reality, but I learned not to trust people too much or to get too attached to things for I would have to leave it in a short while.  At age 11, I moved overseas, first in Oregon, then Washington state, eventually to Cali and with some degree of chance, landed in Walnut.

Walnut became what I believe to be my first home, it was where I grew (physically and socially), where I made mistakes, and where I met some of best people. But even the best things have to left behind to linger in what we call the “past”. Looking forward, I will probably continue to live this modern nomadic lifestyle, living in various places, learning the different cultural social environments, and most of all meeting new people.

However, I will change my approach from now on, I will be more proactive in establishing friendships and relationships with these new people I will soon meet in the near future, and hopefully when I am old and weary I will have friends in every corner of the world. With some thought, I must say that I do not have “a” home”, but instead many “homes”. Many places where I have history, friendships, and memories. Many places where I am loved, cared for, and needed. It might be quite troublesome when deciding where to bury myself when I die, but holy shit, I don’t have to worry about that for a while.

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