Going Home

In a few hours, I'm flying home.

No, I haven't run out of money. I haven't gotten sick of travelling. I'm not flying back to Toronto, only five months and thirteen days after commencing a one-year journey.

I'm flying out to Hong Kong.

Those that really know me will probably be surprised about my choice of words.

Home? Really?

The only answer I can give to that is:

Maybe. But, for now, yes.

Aside from Toronto, Hong Kong is the place in which I've spent the most of my life -- nine years living between 1985 to 1994. I have Permanent Resident status and the Right of Abode in Hong Kong, allowing me to travel back to the SAR using just my Hong Kong Identification Card. I've returned to visit every three years or so since I left. My parents still live in Hong Kong, though the apartment my brother and I grew up in is long gone. I still have friends and other family there -- some of the support network I had when I was living there during my teen-aged years. I can still navigate the city with relative ease, though I'm always surprised by how many new buildings and MTR lines can crop up in the years between visits.

But when I left Hong Kong -- ending my expat childhood to return to Toronto for university -- I'd had more than enough of living there. It was too busy. Too smoggy. Too freaking hot in the summer. There were too many bloody people grabbing after every little scrap of money; then spending it on pointless, ostentatious crap. It's still a place where walking down the street is a contact sport; a place where once you realise it's okay to shove aside the 80-year-old lady that just elbowed you in the ribs, you'll be better off.

How can a place like that be home?

I can't come up with a satisfactory, right answer. If 'home' is defined by that whole 'where the heart is' chestnut, then 'home', to me, has to be the most abstract of concepts; since, currently, my heart is nowhere except for the current and next ports of call.

But when I get back to Hong Kong, I'll get picked up by my parents -- at least after I take the A41 Airbus into the centre of Sha Tin. I'll be able to mooch food and money. I'll have my own room. I'll be able to completely unpack and clean my backpacks. I'll be able to exhale, rest, recharge, and resupply; before setting off to explore Asia.

So Hong Kong is home for now.

And even if it isn't, it's certainly going to be the closest damn thing I get for at least another six months.