traveling through the midwest and seeing colleges and it gets me excited and anxious to leave the city of angels in two years (naively ignoring the fear that'll accompany the newness in two summers' time) but everywhere i've gone that might be my next home (and might not), i've realized that nothing's the same as my first.

this is funny, because home has always been a grey area to me.

mom always told me about how the higher up i grip chopsticks is the closer i'll stay to home, the further back and the further i go. i don't think i've ever paid attention to where i hold them.

it's tradition to always return home for chinese new year.

(but there's holes in the record here)

two years time and i'll be out, and i know i'll be thinking of the two years i had left at home and what i did and how i love home just a little more than i love the idea of the outside world. there's comfort zones and then there's safety nets and i want to break free of both and grasp my youth but keep shards of each with me. or at least, shards back home that i can go back and find when needed.

my city my town my home