Each day my desperation to fly only grows. Like Icarus, I crave to feel the wind torment my hair, rustle my clothes, and conjure tears in my eyes. Latitude 26.06, longitude 119.306, the skies are finally clear.
All aboard Shanghai Airlines -- connecting flight to Fuzhou -- call a taxi -- trek past the gates -- the gazeebos floating on beds of fish -- dent in the mountain barber shop -- up three flights of broken stairs -- pass the garlic plants rooted in old bottles -- stop. Breath. Inhale the humidity and embrace steep, unrailed dirt stairs behind the deceptive apartments to another world I've never been old enough to climb. Maybe this time. I open the door that abandons unrestricted internet and clear lungs. My memory has deceived me. I'm happier than ever before. 5 years ago, I stood outside this same apartment watching the mangoes yellow. Jetlag had woken my mosquito-sweet frame at an hour that out-raced the sun, but this little city never slept. Farmers laid their crops out on sheets along the roads, and I forfeited dimes to a an old man who baged a bundle of vegetable with his right arm and left stub. All around are plastic stools and a poverty and stench for only the strongest. At the peak of day I'd shed the safety of our apartment again, chasing the sweetness of bubble tea, a taste unlike any FDA regulated American drink. A small child satisfied so easily, I never wanted to leave. Finally, halfway through Senior year, I crave to return, but no longer for the food, endless shopping, and relentless attention in the form of money filled red envelopes from relatives. It's not a chance to discover what my heritage means, figure out where I belong, or even spend time with family. This time, it's because I'm finally old enough to drive my own scooter through the unpaved roads. The freedom of self-exploration. I've viewed this country through the lens of my parents. As I've matured, I recognize just how different this place is, but also how little I know about it without the instruction and safety of my parents holding my hand up the three flights of stairs. I want to learn to survive on broken Chinglish, navigate an over complicated bus system, and learn to survive here on my own. It's terrifying to leave a safety net, but in a place as culturally significant to me as my family's hometown, it's important.
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June 2020
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