Three years ago, I decided to take up a job abroad. I bought a last-minute one-way ticket to Hong Kong and told my friend to call Interpol if he didn’t hear from me the following day.
During my entire stay in China, I never called it home. I laughed at my roommate who called our apartment “our home.” I can still picture that one time I rhetorically asked him about it. Reflecting on that concept quite a while later, I accepted that I lived in China. And I am now confident to say that I survived her.
I didn’t have…
