(Written in a quarantine hotel, July 2021, Shanghai)

I thought I would be depressed or extremely anxious the day I left the United States. Raised in Shanghai in the ’90s and ’00s by a lower-middle-class family, and having spent my entire adult life until now in the States, is not necessarily a story of the American dream — but definitely a journey of self-exploration.

Before coming to the States for college, my entire self-identity was built around being a “good student” who got straight As. I had no particular edges in my personality. I didn’t even have a subject I hated — not because I loved them all, but because, as one of the top students, I didn’t have the luxury of giving up on excelling in any single subject.

I guess I thought I would dread going back to China, fearing that the quest for my self-identity would abruptly end just as it had begun.

Surprisingly, I felt utterly relaxed — when I told my bosses that I decided to move back home for a while, when I packed, as departure day approached, on the flight, and now, sitting in my quarantine hotel. Not too many sentimental feelings. No regrets so far.

I’m not yet sure how I’ll face the obstacles everyone warns about — crushing work hours, sky-high housing prices, gender discrimination, the obsession with being thin, and so on — but somehow, I know I will. Maybe it’s true: you can carry the spirit of a place with you, even after you leave it physically.

The free spirit of New York and Berkeley — the assurance that everyone deserves love and respect regardless of gender, race, appearance, education, or wealth — is the most precious diamond I could ever own. I think I am carrying those values with me this time around.

Two days before my flight, I went to pick up my things from my office in midtown. No one was there except a cleaning lady in her fifties. She was excited just to see another living person, a rare experience ever since everyone had started working from home the previous spring.

She told me how she looked forward to people coming back to the office. She lamented how the United States had been torn into two completely different worlds, unable to understand why some people refused to get vaccinated or wear masks. She said New York would always welcome anyone who wanted to come — anyone.

I didn’t fully capture how she went on that monologue, filled with so many deep thoughts, to a stranger like me, on my second-to-last day in the States. It almost felt like a god-sent message, even though I’m not at all religious. Maybe with our masks on, our differences faded away, and we were simply two human beings, longing for affection and love.

I need to use a virtual private network now to visit most of the sites I browsed daily for the past decade — but inside, I still feel free.

For all the strengths gifted to me by those two lovely cities, I just want to say: thank you, and see you soon.