When I was in Shanghai, I fantasized about the many ways I could dramatically change my life, now that I was on my own once again.
I could move anywhere. Quit my job, find a new one. Have a million adventures. I could go anywhere, do anything.
However, by the time I got to Hong Kong — my favorite place in the world — I felt hollow, like something was missing. Hong Kong runs through my veins; it is where I was born and it is my home. It is a place I can always return to, a place where I am always welcome, a place where I am always reunited with my loved ones. And while none of that had changed, I still felt my sadness eating away inside me.
I had thought, in that first hazy fog of grief and heartbreak, that going away would make everything better. That leaving would give me the fresh start I so desperately craved, and all I had to do to reset everything was to briefly withdraw from my daily life and then return.