01/05/2024

Friday
5:44 PM
Walnut, California

 

I flew into LAX yesterday at 6:30 AM after spending 10 out of my 13-hour overnight stop from Indonesia back to California, in Taiwan. My cousin Charlotte was waiting for me at the arrival gates of Taipei International Airport. Touching down in my mother’s birth country and into my cousin’s embrace, I felt as if I had just arrived home. Charlotte had taken it upon herself to step into the role of a super host; she clearly understood that my 13 hours in Taiwan were not to be spent passively. Upon greeting me at the gates of the airport (sooooo sweet of her) at 11 PM, she drove us directly to a midnight hotpot reservation where we spent the next two hours eating only half of what she ordered us and me melting into my cup of hot, fresh milk tea.

We spent the rest of our time together giggling in her childhood room, resting our eyes for a mere 3 hours, and waking up to shop our neighboring street stalls for Taiwanese breakfast at 6 AM. My last two weeks in Indonesia were filled with experiencing and then sustaining the celebration of New Year’s. The time I spent asleep was not enough, and in times like these, I didn’t mind one bit. Knowing that my time abroad was waning, I had found every opportunity to be awake.

—

The winter of Los Angeles County was an immediate and cold shock compared to the tropical humidity of Indonesia. There were immediate symptoms due to my shift in environment. The coconut oil I received as an aftercare treatment for my bamboo-hand-poked tattoo solidified from its natural liquified form. Even more tragically, I can’t walk barefoot and on the earth, as I could in the jungles of Lombok or any other hostel I stayed at in Indo (my circulation cannot handle the cold). This was a sad realization, but I had to remind myself that weather(!) is a variable and that I’m no longer in the land of constant humid, sweaty, hot, and wet 75-82°F.

I returned to my hometown in Southern California to an atmosphere of holiday, winter, coziness, and marble fireplaces. No more squat toilets, lounging in the jungle, or living out of a 71-liter duffel backpack. Coming home after spending an immersive two months and the winter trinity of holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year) in a country I’ve never visited before felt fever-y and confusing to my psyche. I think this feeling had to do with the differing concepts of home. In my predominantly Asian-American suburban hometown, home is the polished safe box that one exists in — one that protects you from the outdoors and the strangers of the world. In Indonesia, homes felt open and shared. Home was any place where people invited you in, shared a cooked meal on the floor, and offered cigarettes with a cup of (to my standards, excessively sweet) coffee. In Indonesia, home was everywhere. In Walnut, home is confined to my childhood home.

I snapped out of my fever state though. I had my beloved family (aunt, grandma, and uncle) to go see.

Upon arrival, first things first: a big hug and kiss for Popo (my grandma), a kiddish smile and embrace for Yiyi (my aunt), and a smug look on my face as I join Fufu (my uncle) for a welcome back bong rip in the backyard. Stepping out of the sliding doors to reunite with California weed was a marvelous experience. The familiarity was that of eating a relished childhood treat again— one that you’ve been eagerly waiting to reunite with.

High and oozing with delight, I gave a heartfelt recap to my uncle. Telling him the route was a journey through diverse landscapes: from the jungles of Lombok to the reefs of Nusa Penida, the walkable island of Gili Air, the large playground of Java, and a 190-mile Christmas scooter road trip in Bali. Recalling the details of the route while back on California weed proved to be a bit hard, and I was fearful for a second that my return to America had suddenly and effectively immediately erased any inkling of travel that I had just experienced (all good though, it was just the dank weed).

Fufu’s reaction was touching to me. He responded with wonder and approval, reminding me that there is no better time than now to explore my curiosities. Toggling from my Google Maps pins to my photo album, telling the stories of my travels is a visual experience. My uncle found the most delight in a video I pulled up of me doing acro yoga with a man I had met in passing the day before. I had met Eugene at a yoga hostel I was staying at in Canggu, Bali and retelling the tale of experiencing acro yoga for the first time with him as my partner brought me to images of me developing that skill and traveling the world performing hand in hand with him. For now, though, I’ll stow that daydream away in a chest full of my to-be-explored undertakings.

In my aunt’s kitchen, I prance around the gray tile floors in my almost-too-small pink foam house slippers, unveiling my intentions for how I’d like to experience my existence, with my immigrant Taiwanese family. I share stories of my travels. I talk about the people I met along the way. I mention Eugene with admiration, of how he introduced me to acro yoga as a performance art and how he’s currently traveling the world to practice yoga while searching for his next acro partner. Ni xiang yào xiàng zhè zong rén a? (you want to live the way that people like that live????) — yes I told my aunt. Yes! That is the way that I want to live!!! I want to travel and connect with people of differing passions and cultures while expanding on the philosophies of how I view and experience the world. It was how I felt about my two months in Indonesia and it was all so exciting and beautiful to me.

I tell my mom, aunt, and grandma my ideas for this year — ones that include continuing to not look for a full-time job, doing my 200-hour yoga teacher training in India, and living in Asia for the majority of the time. Oh yeah, and I’m getting my motorcycle license this month! I looked into it right when I got back to the States — my safety training course is in two days!! My announcements roll off my tongue like a waterfall of dreams, while for my aunt her winces indicated that they came off in a rhythm similar to the precursor of a horror movie. I found her reactions to be laughably stereotypical (I’ve officially fallen into the category of off-the-beaten-path Asian girl) as her follow-up to my slew of proclamations was to ask if I’ve ever considered going back to school (lmao). It’s a comment that makes sense in our Taiwanese culture and the sharpness it subtly had served as an important reminder that what I’m doing — paving my own path and pursuing my own dreams, is a powerful act of courage and commitment to self.

Returning to my aunt’s dining room table always feels like a checkpoint of self-evolution. It’s fun to notice how I show up each time and in this instance, I come back as what feels like to-date, the fullest and most confident version of myself I’ve experienced thus far.

In Indonesia, people that I’ve come across have called me brave: a stranger-turned-friend that I met at the top of Ijen Crater at 5 AM (after witnessing the phenomenon of blue fire), my 16-hour Kawah Putih tour guide in Ciwidey, strangers in passing on Bama Beach of Baluran National Park, and others who I’ve crossed paths with traveling solo as a 24-year-old woman. I’m unsure how true that is, but maybe they’re referring to my attempts to experience life on my own terms. If that’s the case, then I wish to carry this bravery with me throughout this new year, responding to my curiosity with truthful exploration. Coming home, it’s hard to share the news that I plan to leave the country again when I have community that I care about dearly. My family is riddled with worry (for both my safety and my future), but I take their concerns with gratitude as I know that they ultimately support my quest for self-exploration. Leaving my aunt’s house, I feel the weight of how my short stint of travel has settled into my being. See you later, xiao hei (tan girl), I love you!