I moved back to my parents’ place, awaiting my visa and flight for Hong Kong, sitting and praying through uncertainty. I didn’t expect a rush of sadness as I went home last night, trying to process it with my roommate. Moving was never an issue for me; I’ve mastered the art of picking up and leaving in the last 4 years, but this time it’s different. I am leaving home. Unbeknownst to me, I’ve allowed myself to be comfortable somewhere, to be involved in a community (despite the size but a community nonetheless). It’s funny how I spent the first 2 years eager to leave, and now that I’m preparing to go, I don’t want to.
I thank God for the last year where I found community, not in the fellowship halls of church but in the small apartment in Brooklyn, the subway rides home, the coffee shops of Chinatown, and the group chats on Facebook. I found not one but multiple communities, not where I thought it would be but where God knew I would be loved, accepted, and nurtured in those surprising places. I thank those who made this year home for me, and my journey would not be the same without you. Salamat. (: