A Wide Expanse of Water Separating My Heart in Two

Long flights across the ocean, 14 hours crammed into a seat not meant to fit my frame. 14 hours across the ocean, a 15 minutes’ bus ride, and an hour and a half train ride and I’m back to the home I grew up in. Where so much and so little has changed. The place you grow up defines so much of who you are and who you will become.

“You’ve gotten so fat! You must be eating a lot of hamburgers in America.”

People say that you can’t run away from your problems and I don’t disagree. A change of scenery, new friends, an adventure won’t stop your past from catching up. It’s still there, maligned, certain, and infallible. I feel like I’m back in high school, pining over the girl I love, hoping that she feels the same, but knowing that my love will never be reciprocated. Last I checked she is married with two kids and one on the way.  

“How are you and your girlfriend? Broke up? You should get married soon, settle down.”

When I was a child, I’d blast the AC all night and not bother to put on any covers. I got deathly sick. My mom brought me soup in bed and while I ran a horrible fever. I prayed that if I got better I would never be bad again. There was only the sickness and the pain, I promised I would listen to my parents and be a good boy if it went away. I break my promise to God for the next two decades.  

“Are you moving back? When are you taking over your father’s business?”

I feel trapped and liberated at the same time. There was never much parental supervision. I roamed the city streets wild and free, with no curfew and little restriction. I ate too much candy, watched too many violent movies, too little structure, too much time. Twice a year I’m back, summer vacation and winter break. A place I am very familiar with, but a stranger at the same time. Like most of my life, I have very little friends, but spend much of my time alone. I seem to be socially inept both on the Island and in the States.

“Do you speak mandarin? Wow, it’s not bad for an ABC (American Born Chinese).”

I am not Asian, I am not American, some sort of the alien to most people. A banana (yellow on the outside, white on the inside) to more cultural Asians. I stand on the outside looking in, wishing I could fit in somewhere, wishing I had chosen to fit in somewhere along the path. I often remind myself that this is the path I’ve chosen and that there is no turning back. There is nothing to turn back to.

“San Francisco? A lot of gays.”

I wish I could tell my parents that I love them. I know they know, but to voice it out loud would be strange. They would probably look at me as if I was going through some sort of emotional breakdown. I hugged them for the first time when I was in my early 20’s, a stiff awkward hug like the ones you give acquaintance’s or a stranger. I hang out at my mom’s country cottage with her friends as they make small talk and sip coffee. I hit the links with my dad with his friends, listening to them tell dirty jokes and reminisce about the past. It brings me peace to be in their presence. So much time to make up.

“Art? Painting? You can’t make very much money doing that can you?”

I meet a girl at a bar and she asks me what my favorite food is. We go out to dinner and she orders the most expensive thing on the menu. She doesn’t even bother to pretend to want to pay and I wonder if this is a cultural thing or if she’s just another girl looking for a free meal. She is pretty and she knows it, but has very little to fill in for conversation. Maybe it’s due to my own lack of linguistic depth. I delete her phone number. I fill my time with useless things, things to fill the void.

“I think it’s better if we don’t talk anymore. We’ll never get back together.”

I meet some friends at an after hour’s karaoke spot. It is past 4am and people are still drinking heavily, I want to leave but am afraid that I’ll just lay awake in my bed alone. I want to make a human connection, but my heart is not in it, turning the corners of my lips up when I am addressed. I find it easier to pretend than to open up to anyone. There are pretty faces everywhere, but not the one I am looking for. I tell myself “like everything else, this will all pass.”  

“How long are you visiting for? Are you ever going to move back?”

I walk through the metro, through throngs of bodies. People who look like me with the same blood running through their veins. I think about all the women I have loved and lost, wondering if it would have been better never to have met them because I am lonely. I look at all the faces as they walk by, people going about their lives. I stand in line next to a group of young French girls waiting for the train. The pretty brunette looks up and smiles at me and for a moment I feel slightly better.

“We want you to be happy. You just do what you have to do to make yourself happy.”

I am stuck in the middle. A wide expanse of water separating my heart into two. An hour and a half train ride, a 15 minutes’ bus ride, and a 14 hour flight across the ocean and I’m back. Right back to where I’ve left everything.