August 11th
I am sitting at the airport. It is currently 8:37pm, my flight takes off in a little over two hours, and I am listening to sad music.
Saying goodbye to HBA has come in three parts.
1. Lifting of the language pledge: Finally getting to speak English anytime, anywhere. Acknowledging that English will now return to our main form of communication and expression. Feeling relieved but sad. Wondering when, if ever, we will be able to have an opportunity like this again. Wondering when, if ever, I will be this comfortable speaking Chinese again.
2. Leaving the teachers and 北语 campus: Crossing arms with our teachers on the way back from dinner and karaoke. Revealing everything we’ve wanted to say for the past two months. Standing outside of our dorm, because the teachers insisted on walking us all the way to our gate, and crying. Knowing that hugs and muffled thank you’s are not enough but doing it anyway. Seeing your teachers hide because of tears. Keeping up with an active group chat until 3AM because we still have so much to say. The last bike ride around 五道口.
3. The end of summer: Waiting at the airport, ready to go home yet unprepared to leave. Heart still at BLCU, with eachother.
In Chinese, there’s this saying, 怅然若失, which means feeling like you’ve lost something but not knowing what it is. Perhaps it is the spirit of HBA that now feels distant. Perhaps it is the thought that in a few months I won’t feel this intense longing anymore. My friend Kalos put it quite perfectly. I’m afraid to lose this gratitude, this summer. I’m afraid to forget.
All the emotions I’ve experienced this summer—homesickness, frustration, confusion, feeling completely lost—still exist. I’m still not sure what being Chinese-American means. I still don’t know how that hyphen divides, how the division changes depending on where I am. I’m torn between two versions of myself. I miss home. I want to stay.
But I have never felt so understood. I have never felt so sure, despite everything else, that I am where I should be. That my identity is a work in progress—something to be uncovered, but also something to be built. I am beyond thank for the past two months.
I am thankful for the Light Fellowship for giving me this opportunity.
I am thankful for my hardworking teachers who chose us over sleep everyday.
I am thankful for my friends who kept me feeling grounded and safe, always.
I am thankful for Chinese.
It seems unfair that just when I was beginning to feel closest to everything, my time in China had come to an end. But at the same time, I know having to leave was part of this realization. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, but in the moment, I wanted to stay just a little longer. I still wish we could’ve stayed just a little longer.
Despite knowing that I should’ve came into Beijing with concrete goals, I arrived with one: to feel like after this program, some part of Beijing, no matter how small, belongs to me. The Olympic Park after hours where my friends taught me how to ride a bike. The Xizhimen subway stopped where I never returned my Beijing transit card. The iconic 糟糕 place that was worth every line. That one place in the 食堂. Our makeshift cafeteria in 502. Rooftops in Chaoyang. Japanese rice bowls with Calpico. The humble common room of 303. The spirit of HBA.
To be honest, I never quite liked the word goodbye. Partings are rarely good. So instead of ending this summer, this blog, this unforgettable 回忆 with a goodbye, I will say 再见.
但愿人长久，千里共婵娟。
See you again, Beijing.
