Home (.,!,?)

Because I've moved every three or four years throughout my life I have been holistically conditioned to expect and want change. In China, I moved two or three times before the age of five, from living with one extended family to another. When I turned five, my mom and I left Beijing for the US and found ourselves in an Irish-Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn, NY where we stayed a couple of years before moving to Queens. Between the ages of 7 and 11, we bounced from one community within the borough to another, from Woodside, to Elmhurst to Rego Park, and finally to Forest Hills, where the demographic was whiter and more affluent, where people listened to moody rock songs instead of angry, boisterous rap. This is where we stayed and where my sister was born.

By senior year of high school, my family had finally settled in to the comforts of financial stability, and I chose to leave NY for Chicago, only to move back to NY for a couple of years after graduation before selling my belongings and relocating to LA--again of my own volition. Then after two years, I felt a leading to go to China and moved out of my apartment in West LA. I gave some stuff away, and stored the rest at a friend's place before jumping on a plane with just enough clothes for three months. And when that time was up, I came back to LA wondering about when I'd go back again.

That was when my parents started to worry. They started pushing this great idea of "settling down," being more "comfortable," finding a place to call my own...which essentially meant "stay put long enough to meet someone and get married."

Who knows? Maybe they weren't trying to kill my wanderlust after all, and sincerely wanted to take advantage of the crappy real estate market. Whatever it was, they somehow convinced me to oblige, and here I am in Hacienda Heights, a relatively small community wedged between the City of Industry, with its warehouses, smoke stacks, day workers, and bad air; and Diamond Bar, with its manicured lawns and one of the best public school districts in the nation.

I guess it's okay. The area has some perks: mainly a very short commute to work every morning and an abundance of cheap Asian food.

The downside, though, is how far I am from everything else in the world and how far I have to drive to interact with the things relevant to my life: I'm 30 miles from Church, 40-50 miles from Life Group, 30 miles from a decent art studio, and at least 30 miles from the closest Trader Joes.

Slightly bothered by the notion of a real permanent residence, I stalled on buying things to fill it. I even renovated to appeal to the presumed tastes of the local demographic (for easy renting) rather than based on my own tastes. I planned it so that all my furnishings (which I did pick out to my own liking when I finally got around to buying them) would fit into one of those nice-sized storage pods just in case, you know, I had to go.

It took 4 months before I accepted that this would be where I'd be for a little while ("little" "while") and finally turned the space into something I'd actually invite people to: mostly clean with places to sit.

I've even committed to plants.