Two weeks ago, I decided to go to Hong Kong over spring break. It was impulsive. I had been there before — once as a child, and again in 2019. But somehow, I barely remembered any of it. This is the second time in a relatively short span that I have found myself writing about Asia, which probably says something about the kind of year this has been. More than ever before, I have been thinking more seriously about identity, what feels like home and how much of it is something I only recognize once I’ve been away from it.
My friend and I stayed in Causeway Bay, and over the course of a few days, I saw many different sides of Hong Kong. The city was crowded, humid, fast-moving and very much alive. Its metro system made everything feel connected, even when the stations were packed during rush hour. There was movement everywhere. Pedestrians weaving through each other, old restaurants that seemed like they had been there forever, students in uniforms, buses passing by in layers of red and blue. There was a density to life that felt exhausting but deeply familiar.
I didn’t connect naturally with everything. Hong Kong’s food, for example, never fully persuaded me. After a few days, I found myself craving the flavors I grew up with instead. Part of the trip was realizing that cultural familiarity is not always the same, even in places I felt I should automatically belong to.
The most memorable part of the trip, though, was in Shenzhen, a 15-minute high-speed rail away. I wish I could’ve stayed there longer. There is something about large cities in mainland China that moves me from head to toe. They feel modern and full of technological advancements, but also deeply rooted in their thousands of years of history. They feel nostalgic. With my dad, I ate roast goose and other dishes that I loved almost immediately. More than that, I kept noticing how hard he was trying to make me happy.
He arrived early at the train station to meet up with me. He worried about restaurant wait times more than I did. He kept offering to buy me drinks and gifts in the mall, as if small things could somehow make up for the years and distance that had already passed. I realized that parents don’t stop trying, even when the relationship has been roughened by place and time. I only see him once a year. He looks older and older as each year flies by.
After we said goodbye, I kept thinking about how much of his life had been spent working far from the people he loved, and how easy it is, when we’re young, to assume there will always be more time to understand our parents later. But later is not guaranteed in the way we like to imagine. Spending just a few hours with him that day made me feel almost guilty and ignorant. I wanted to be less stubborn, less fixated on small conflicts that may take months to resolve. I feel that it’s becoming my turn to return the care and love to my family. But there’s a sense of hopelessness that comes with that responsibility. Why am I still so young?
We walked on the Avenue of Stars and rode the Peak Tram at night and watched the city turn into sparkling lights below us. On our last day, we went on a cable car. I thought I’d be too afraid of heights to enjoy it, but once we were above the water and mountains, I felt strangely calm. Looking down through the glass floor at the sea and the green slopes below, I felt minuscule against the vast landscape.
The temples on top of the mountain gave me inner peace. After days of trains, crowds, shopping, the quiet there felt grounding. Chinese temples always strike me with their steadiness, the way they seem to hold wishes for peace, family, health and well-being with such sincerity and certainty.
Now, writing this on the plane leaving HKG, I feel an unexpected sorrow. Hong Kong is not my hometown. I did not grow up there. Yet being there, and being in Shenzhen, made me feel at ease. Being surrounded by Chinese language, streets, food and rhythms of daily life made me feel closer to myself and my roots. There’s so much more in China to learn, understand, recover and explore. I promise I’ll be back soon.
Linda Huang is a sophomore from Rockville, Md. majoring in Biomedical Engineering. Her column celebrates growth and emotions that define young adulthood, inviting readers to live authentically.