Here is the apartment I used to live in,

it’s scuffed edges and peeling wallpaper,

it’s light bulbs we never fixed,

the books on the shelf we never flipped through.

Here is where Uncle Cheng lifted and flung me above his shoulders,

where I felt fearless and weightless suspended in midair.

Here is grandma's dimly lit tv room,

where I watched hours of a war documentary unaware of the heaviness it carried.

Here is where I felt the innocence of Auntie Wen’s children’s,

inspired by their laughter and the affection in their mother’s eyes.  

Here is where I saw my mother in a skin-tight navy dress,

in her favorite scent wild bluebell. 

Here is where grandpa snuck pistachio packets in my pockets,

Nuts of happiness,

That is the meaning of pistachio in Chinese. 

Here is where I first pressed on the keys of a piano,

conflict, compromise is the beauty of it all.

Here is where I ran as the rain poured, laughing until it hurt,

on the street that reflects the sky after storms so flawlessly. 

Here are the constellations I traced on sleepless nights, 

lying with peace on the rooftop.

Here is the backyard where my aunt taught me how to ride a bike,

when she let go of me when I wasn’t ready,

skidding the edges of the pavement.

Here is the subway that is never punctual, 

its tired passengers with sore knees telling stories of mundane, extraordinary lives,

in this labyrinth of concrete and gasoline.

Here is where I took a sip of dad’s baijiu the first time, 

it burned going down.

Here is where I ran into the word “f-*-*-k,”

half concealed on a doodled wall,

its unfamiliar syllables ran rough in my mouth.

Here is where I thought of being “not good enough”

I didn’t know I had lost something important by then.

Here is where I told my sister I hated her without meaning it,

where she understood what I tried to say when I failed to,

and taught me the power in yielding, in silence, in forgiving.

Here is where I mourned over the diseased,

held grandma's thin hand by her sickbed whispering “It’s all fine”

Here is where I wish I had cherished volatility of time,

where I watch people exit my life just as I watch them enter.

Love is company, Love is acceptance of letting go.

Here where I know I have to leave thousands of miles away and hours apart,

knowing someone has to unwillingly let go too. 

Here is where I stood crowded and bustling— Beijing,

its businessmen, drivers, agnostics, insomniacs,

believers and cynics,

lovers and unloved.

A city of travelers and local strangers bound together by unshared pasts.

Here are unspoken apologies, intangible things, and extraordinary human beings.

Here I am, I am here.