After a month of soul-searching...

I'm sitting here tapping away on my Macbook (which by the way, is definitely contributing to a relapse of my carpal tunnel) at the Red Carpet Club in the Hong Kong airport. The sun is gently settling into the horizon, and outside the window, cars and trucks zoom in and out in between glistening planes, loading and unloading bags and meals, and who knows what else.

It's strange and yet somewhat comforting that most of my trips end in Hong Kong. There's a certain sense of cyclic, full-circle-ness that comes with stopping at my birthplace each time I travel abroad to Asia. And yet, it's the same repetition that reminds me that this isn't really "my place" any longer. I've realized that the reason that I always feel so antsy after spending more than a few days in Hong Kong is that it is no longer my home. I may be born here, and I have relatives here, but I am no similar to the local people as other foreign expats are. I speak their language, but I don't sound the same. I have the same skin colour, and yet I don't look the same. Hong Kong, like many global cities, is a gateway -- which by definition, is a place that takes you to another place. But it's not really a place that you stay for long.

As I traveled from place to place on this trip, I've found that there's one commonality -- in each place I visit, I've always rejected the facades and asked for the real deal. The real people behind the tourist facades. The real history behind the sights and sounds. When I pick my tour guides, I always ask them to take me to places that's off the normal circuit, or tell me stories about how the local people really live. Perhaps it's the desire to really understand the place and its people, or perhaps that's what I'm missing in my life: a sense of tradition that is historic and authentic, as opposed things that are always shiny and new.

And after traveling to four countries in four weeks, I can say that I've learned a lot about myself. And yet, none is it is really anything that I didn't already know. I've learned that I can be independent and curious, adventurous and yet a homebody at times. I know that I'm still seeking "home" and a sense of belonging, but that San Francisco is the closest thing I've got at this point. (And it's a pretty darn good home.) I guess my point is, despite the soul-seeking nature of a long trip abroad alone, I don't have any seriously deep conclusions, and I'm okay with that. I took a trip of a lifetime, and saw beautiful things and met really nice people. The sights and sounds will remain in my mind for a long long time, and I'm blessed to have had a chance to see so many new places.

But now, it's time to go home. At least the place that I call home for now.

P.S. I just had my first Starbucks almond soy latte in over two weeks. It was heavenly.