America the Beautiful

Going home is a funny thing. It’s a timeless feeling, the core subject of countless songs, books, poems and the underlying plot of the epic of Odysseus. When you live as an ex-patriate in Hong Kong, a city “home” to countless third culture kids for whom the whole notion of home has been confusingly blended, you get familiarized with hazy definitions of home. You meet people with conflicting nationalities, or those who don’t define themselves at all by their nationality.  I feel lucky that for me, that was not something with which I seriously needed to wrestle. I was born and raised in the Boston area, and until I was 18 I didn’t know what it was like to live anywhere else. 

I returned to the US last Wednesday for the first time as a foreign resident, flying into Washington, DC, a city I called home on and off for five years. Coming back to take part in my brother’s wedding, my trip lasted about a week and a half and allowed me to take a trip down my entire American memory lane. I went through DC, New York and Boston, the only American cities I’d ever lived in. I had kept all three metro cards.

Wednesday evening I got off my plane at Reagan National Airport and strolled to the metro stop, walking past querying visitors with the swagger of a veteran who had plenty of Reagan entrances under his belt. I immediately boarded an incorrect yellow line train. After playing off my mistake as if I had chosen it, I noticed how old the subway system looked.  The plastic interiors of the train, the large concrete halls, the brick tiling of the platform – it all looked so 70’s. And there was space! My instinct when I entered the train was to stand, but as it started moving I realized there were several completely empty seats all around me. Nobody on the car was sharing a seat.

Soon I was at a barbecue restaurant near Maggie’s house, where I was staying, with three of my friends from school. I hadn’t been to a barbecue restaurant in a full year. I got my ribs, I got my coleslaw, I got my beer and before I knew it, I was having conversations about places and people that had literally not crossed my mind in that whole year. We gossiped about professors, former classmates, my friends’ friends whom I had never even met but knew about from conversations past. It was so surreal how fast it all came back.

Within a day I had several nuggets of reverse culture shock. I was crashing on Maggie’s couch on the ground floor, and while changing in the morning, I realized I needed to find a discrete spot away from the windows and peering pedestrians. For a second, I stood inexplicably dumbfounded, as if this ordinary task seemed extremely bizarre. Suddenly I realized – this was never a problem in Hong Kong. 99.5% of Hong Kongers do not live on the ground floor in a place where pedestrians could walk by and see them. I live on the 27th floor and my view is quite secure. I was no longer surrounded by apartments, I was actually in an urban neighborhood of houses. After I was presentable, I went out to the metro and had to wait 5 minutes for the train. 5 minutes is a very standard wait time on the Orange line, even at 9:45am as it were, but I found myself racking my brain to figure out how often I had ever waited this long for a subway train in Hong Kong. I came up with twice: once after watching the Eurocup final in the wee hours and taking a 6am train back, I waited 8 minutes, and another time I think there was a minor delay. Twice. My DC friends were absolutely wowed.

Sitting on a bus in the city, I gazed out at all the passing land. In stark contrast to Hong Kong, there was so much undeveloped green space. There was so much land that wasn’t generating tax, that instead probably took taxpayer money to maintain. There was certainly room for a Hong Kong style mall, an Elements or a Festival Walk, to sprout up, maybe around Foggy Bottom or Farragut West. As a professional in sustainable development now, it was my instinct to imagine Washingtonians operating in these buildings, using an improved infrastructural system. But the former resident in me instinctively bristled. In a sustainable world, isn’t there room for a life like this? Don’t we want to be able to walk down grassy fields by the river under the shade of trees? Don’t we want to be able to sit on a patio out on the sidewalk, drinking coffee and eating sandwiches? Don’t we want to be able to bike down wide streets without fearing for our lives? At that moment, I realized that I loved my life in DC and I loved my life in Hong Kong, despite how incredibly different they were. It is very difficult for me to reconcile these two loves.

I managed to see so many friends over Thursday and Friday, over 20, by meeting for coffee, lunch, dinner and drinks. Trying to sprint through 12 hours of jetlag, it was absolutely exhausting, but I was energized by not having to work and reminders of my youthful exploits in the town. On Saturday morning, I channeled it all. Despite coming home Friday night having closed out Tombs, I woke up at 9:30 and packed all my stuff, then headed into Georgetown for a pregame party before the tailgate. I left that party before 11am so that I could drag all my bags to the tailgate for the start of it. There I ran into another a couple dozen friends, many of whom I had to explain that I had moved to Hong Kong. Just forty minutes later, I finished my beer, said my goodbyes and grabbed my luggage and got another taxi, so that I could make my 12:25 train out of Union Station and attend the wedding rehearsal for my brother.

Suddenly the former classmates surrounding me were replaced by the relatives and family friends, many of whom I hadn’t seen in years.  There were all of DJ’s friends, some of whom I knew well, some of whom I couldn’t remember their names. Due mainly to our enormous extended family, most of the wedding guests were DJ's invitations.  I was whisked from the church where his ceremony would take place, to the hotel nearby where I wouldn’t be staying, back to the church, to dinner in Chinatown before breaking down and demanding solitude on my way to DJ’s Williamsburg condo.

The next morning I woke up really nervous. I didn't really know why, it wasn't my wedding day. I had no idea this was what wedding days felt like. My brother woke up early and seemed relaxed - Catherine had spent the night with her friends, obeying the tradition of the bride and groom not seeing each other until the ceremony proper. I milled about finishing the slideshow I had helped prepare for them, and rehearsing my speech.  DJ's groomsmen arrived between 10 and 11 and we got some food from Smorgasburg and put on our rented suits. They had all been in many weddings that year, including three who had gotten married, and so were used to the drill. It was my first time in a wedding party. A photographer came and snapped our every action. We did our thing then drove across the East River to the wedding. 

It was strange being at the actual wedding and having people come to you, telling you congratulations even though you didn't really do anything except fly 12 time zones and then leave a tailgate early. I haven't been to many weddings at all and certainly never felt like a VIP. We strolled to our spots in the corner of the church and waited, where things seemed to go according to schedule. Little did we know that the limo that was scheduled to pick the girls up was extremely late. Luckily the bridal party was sharp and decided to cut their losses and take a cab, or two because Cat's dress took up two seats. They arrived just on time and looked beautiful and we didn't hear that story til later. The wedding proceeded and I almost felt stage fright having everyone looking at my general direction. I wonder how DJ & Cat felt. I had the rings and kinda fumbled them out of my pocket but got them out and proceeded. Then they said "I do", it was beautiful, we all walked down the aisle and then the families of the bride and groom all lined up for handshakes. I let out a sigh of relief that my duties were over, before I realized that I was in the family of the groom. So I stood side to side with my dad and shook hands with people I knew, people I knew I knew but didn't actually know, people I didn't know if I knew, and a handful of people I knew I didn't know.  The whole time was picture time, and it was quite fulfilling and exhilarating when people lined out and the din quieted and we filed into a limo. We popped some champagne, took some photos, pumped up some jams, and almost got killed when the driver took a wrong turn just before we reached our Brooklyn reception site.  We sat in terror as the limo awkwardly did a 15 point turn in traffic to right itself.

The reception consisted of a lot more photos, some technical laptop setup, and a sprinkling of hors d'oevres and drinks. I was thinking steadily about my speech now and really quite nervous about it. It is probably to date the biggest speech of my life. I probably would not have even volunteered had I not taken public speaking in college and had some confidence going in. In truth, I had thought about the speech for a long time, even before DJ got engaged - I had the whole line about betting that I'd get married before him prepared. When I learned that Cat's mother could not speak English very well, I didn't want to leave her out and so I decided to make my speech bilingual in Mandarin.  This would also allow my Auntie to understand the speech, though the majority of my extended family cannot understand Mandarin.

I was very nervous about that part. I had given a real speech in Chinese and in a practice round with friends in Hong Kong, I was told that my accent was terrible. Which I was aware. I had hoped that by this time my Chinese would have improved more and this would sound fluid. I made up for it by really knowing my speech well and understanding everything that Jenny, my mainland coworker, had helped me pen.  My mischievous cousin Lincoln helped out as well.  Though I was having no trouble accessing the open bar on my own, Lincoln swooped in to "buy" me drinks. He told me it was important to settle my nerves. And again.  When I told him I was good, he brought in my cousin Karen who told me that we hadn't taken a drink together. And so we took a shot. And a double.  It took me to Sunday to realize that Lincoln wasn't trying to settle my nerves, he was really hoping for a train wreck. He subscribed to the belief that wedding speeches can only be memorably great or memorably awful, otherwise they suck. So yes, it would have been hilarious if I went in front of the mike and couldn't say anything intelligible. Maybe.

From the bridal party entrance to the three course dinner to the million people related to us to the Gangnam style dance to the tea ceremony, the evening was a splendid glorious stream of celebration of my brother's and Cat's life.  The whole time I wasn't feeling pure happiness for him, my heart pumped in anticipation for my coming role.  Then my dad spoke. My dad is well known for embarrassing my brother and I, but this time he started with a clever pun, offering picture evidence of how he raised DJ single-handedly. He then went on to make fun of Mom and praise Cat in one graceful swoop, and DJ and I were both spared and moved. His speech was long though, and as noted I had been drinking, and I had to go to the bathroom towards the end of it. So I sprinted to the bathroom, not knowing when my slideshow would be up. When I sprinted back, I saw DJ fumbling on my mac to get the slideshow started. I ran in and took over. However my hands were wet from washing them in the bathroom, and the mousepad didn't work at all. I wiped my hands on the table cloth and tried to maneuver the cursor again, but it didn't work as it had gotten wet. I could feel several hundred eyeballs boring into me, possibly wondering who let this drunk kid on the center floor. I wiped the mousepad with the tablecloth and finally started the Powerpoint. Then I retreated to my table and sipped some water.

The slideshow went over very well though perhaps too long.  I got a little teary not going to lie, it was quite an emotional night.  Then Cat's bridesmaids Hatty and Charlotte gave a joint speech covering some of their humorous exploits as NYU underclassmen and then castmates of the Asian version of Sex & the City. And then it was me. I remember deciding last minute to make fun of myself first, taking the mic from the host, and then opening with "各位好". I then said Mandarin isn't my native language, I know my accent is very bad. That got a surprising number of laughs.  I then went on to say how today was very humbling, how I had bet DJ that I would get married before him, and how despite being cooler, more charming and so much better looking, I have today lost the bet. I then said something simple about how hard it was finding that perfect soulmate in today's high-intensity world, and that while I haven't, I'm so happy DJ has. When I finished the Chinese portion, I actually got an applause. I then repeated the same joke in English, and when people laughed, I thanked them for revealing themselves as non-Mandarin speakers. Then I said how Cat and DJ are both extremely dear to me.  One obviously, is among the people I trust most in the world. Someone whom I feel I can go to for any issue, be it work, homework, leisure or relationships. Someone who has seen me change considerably over the years and whom I’ve seen change. And the other, is my brother.

It was really, really predictable, but the people who didn't know me laughed, and then I went into the mushy stuff, then got off the stage and hugged DJ.  I then took another 3 shots and went table to table.  When I came back and found my cake taken away, I realized I hadn't really eaten much of the great food there, because I'd been so busy going around the hall. I also wasn't that drunk despite what all this sounds, probably because I had spread things out over so many hours. And then the hours caught up, and an unbelievable exhaustion overwhelmed me until I was back in Williamsburg.

I spent another two days in New York sorting out post-wedding logistics and seeing friends. NYC and Hong Kong always get their atmospheres compared, but it amazed me how much more of a walkable city New York was. I would easily rather walk 10 uptown blocks in New York than 4 blocks in Mong Kok or Causeway Bay.  The street food in New York is iconic. The street food in Hong Kong is an obstacle. The city architecture consisted of so much stone, a completely foreign sight in Asia.  NYC still has its flaws, but it might be the best setting in the world to create a story.  Or maybe the stories there are more relatable to me than the stories created in Hong Kong.  Those were some of my random thoughts walking through the city, seeing people I could easily have become.

I took a Bolt Bus home and spent a much needed four days in Newton. I had looked forward to coming home, home home, the placed that raised me, where I learned to walk, talk, multiply, run, jump, read, throw a frisbee, use a computer, play the piano, make friends.  My past was all haphazardly arranged, as if it had not been told that I was coming back and had not bothered to get ready. The crossword book I had written senior year of college was sitting on top of the encyclopedia I had gotten as a Christmas present junior year next to the book on creoles I had read after graduate school next to the fiction book I had started in middle school and never finished. The piano was one we had bought when I was maybe in 8th grade, and the music that I found was partly the classical music my piano teacher taught me in high school, part printed chord sheets for pop songs like Viva la Vida and Love Story, the whole "Piano Man" music sheet, some of DJ's music, some a capella stuff... My room had wall posters from the Red Sox championship runs, now showing disgraced players. The attic, which was enlarged in high school, had the bench where I learned to do decline situps, that used to be in DJ's room. When I turned the TV on I still watched the same channels.  I ran down Beacon Street to the reservoir and around, a route I first completed the summer after junior year of high school.  Bounding down the exact same sidewalks as I had when I was training against hurdlers from St. Mark's and the like, it was bizarre realizing that I was now getting in shape to compete against ultimate players on the other side of the world in two weeks. I had never before run this route with so much sense of life fulfillment. I took a long detour home and maybe it was the suburban American air regenerating me, but I crushed the run. 

The night before I left I asked my mom if I could go over school stuff.  We were actually planning on selling the house, and the emotions of leaving this immense part of me were strong.  When I think about selling the house too long, I think about a couple dozen things, all of which make me want to cry, the most important of which was the uncertainty with where Auntie would go.  The rest of the stuff though I was prepared to deal with.  Nothing in life lasts forever and I was getting to the age where that needed to hit me hard.  Still I wanted to see what of my past was worth salvaging, what I had hidden away from myself. And I was also looking for something. In my junior year blue ringed notebook, I found it. I made a lot of stupid scribbling while taking notes for boring classes (including this Combinatorics class), and most of them don't last long. This was different.

24 year old Cal
30% New York City
20% Boston
12% Hong Kong
10% Washington, DC
5% Chicago
5% San Francisco
5% London
2% Belfast
2% Beijing
9% Other

I guess 20 year old Cal knew 24 year old Cal fairly well, although a 22 year old Cal would have dramatically readjusted those odds.  I think I actually did the same thing as a sophomore in high school, but those may have been gone forever.  I wondered what that person jotting the notes down would think of me now if he met me. I think I would definitely have been surprised by a lot of things. And I think I'd be happy with my life right now. I really hope my current self can look at my 28 year old self and think the same way. 

Leaving home was very, very hard.  Even when my current life is contained in a 400 square foot unit on the other side of the world, filled with all pieces of my life I've acquired since I moved out of that house, it really hurts knowing that this perpetually reliable space may close itself off to me. I wasn't really ready to fly back, I didn't have homecoming or a wedding waiting for me on the other side. But I knew where my place was. If anything the trip back to the US had reassured me that I was doing the right thing by being over in Hong Kong. It's important to know who you are, where you come from, who's important to you. But it's equally important to know what you want to become, what you want to accomplish, and I think my former self, my family and my friends all understand and agree here. Sometimes you need to go home and integrate yourself with yourself.  Other times, you need to create home where your heart is.