July 4th

I landed in Dulles International on July 2nd, 2007.

When I arrived at the apartment in Chinatown, my friend R was already there waiting for me. He came down from Manhattan to help me move. I needed someone who’d done this “shove your entire life into two bags and move to a different continent” thing before. He dragged me to a Verizon store, Bed Bath & Beyond, and then CVS. I was so thankful that I didn’t have to go through these new but weird experiences entirely by myself.

Couple days later, July 4th. My bohemian aunt, who knew everyone from everywhere, emailed me to go and see her dance partner living in the Eastern Market. His mother was throwing a BBQ for the 4th. I danced (quite poorly) with my aunt’s friend while R enjoyed his cold beer. We all watched the fireworks from the Capitol together.

This is my 15th year in the US. If now-me ask 25-year-old-me, “Would you move to a different country, leaving your parents and brother and friends behind, start pretty much everything from the scratch”, I would probably say no. But I was young. Maybe too young. Also I didn't know back then, no matter how fluent I am, how long I live here, or work here, that I would always feel foreign. I would feel that I don’t belong.

But every July 4th, I think about that firework. When I think of that night, I feel I’m new again. Courageous and naive enough to tackle the world full of unknowns. Not afraid of failing, simply because I don’t know what I don’t know. Everything feels a bit newer, weirder, more fun and exciting.

I wouldn’t feel this way if I did everything alone. I was lucky enough to go through the last 14 years with those around me. They helped me stand on my own feet. They danced and shared a beer with me. They corrected my pronunciations, namely, Super Mario (I say /maerio/, and I still stand by it).

I guess that’s how my journey has been so far. With all the people around me.