Away.

I hate the feeling of being away for a period of time and the strain of trying to come back. But what is there to come back to? When you've been away, you've grown, changed, evolved. Things are not as they were. I just don't know how to be with the things that haven't changed.

I feel like I am constantly going through an identity crisis. I have no idea who I am right now. I don't have the confidence to trust that I actually love anything right now. I am bogged down by such incredibly heavy issues of racism, oppression and how much the culture of my school has influenced my worldview and self-image. I've compromised a lot. I let myself believe in this false truth of identification with a world I never even belonged in. I bought into the lies of a deficient message of community. And it feels increasingly hard to find people who can not only understand but can actually relate to my experiences. So I end up pulling away from so many people. Because I am afraid to talk to you, afraid to be vulnerable or show that I'm angry. Even if my anger is misplaced or irrational. I just don't even want you to see it.

My Asian American Studies class has easily become my favorite course. When I talk to my professor and other ethnic minorities, I feel a lot less alone. When I read books on the struggles of immigrant families and 2nd generation children, my heart breaks for the same challenges and pains we have all experienced.

People who do not belong to a minority or oppressed group of some kind have no idea what reality is like on the other side. Or as my Human Diversity professor calls it, "from the back of the classroom".

My heart is full of sorrow all the time. And yet, paradoxically, I am moved forward by light and hope. There is hope in certain things - like finding truth, running, graduating, learning about singleness - but it is in the other things that I don't know what to do - the tensions of certain relationships, my uneasiness around the wedding planning of friends, my family...

On Friday, when other plans fell through, I was left in a cold Starbucks in downtown L.A., watching the sun set over the towering buildings of the Financial District. I had texted an old friend and soon enough, we found ourselves on the phone, despite not having seen each other in over seven months. And later that night, we sat in a pub and caught up over beers. "I never thought we'd be sitting around together, drinking and talking about how we both want to go back to China." Indeed, the scene seemed strange enough to me. I couldn't help but think how far he and I have come. On our way out, we discovered that his roommate was there so we went back inside to chat. Someone else who knew him said, "I thought you were on a date so I didn't want to bother you." I quickly corrected him, "No, I'm his ex-girlfriend." Yeah, life is sometimes funny like that.

Being in a state of ambiguity isn't so bad sometimes. When you're not sure about much, you don't have much to lose. So you end up spending time with people you might not normally. But you know, Friday night turned out to be really nice. As more time passes, I feel less pressure around him. There's freedom for both people when you take away the box you put them in. I know. People don't belong in boxes. But it also requires a complete paradigm shift for me and how I've operated and defined every single relationship I've ever had with any friend.

I'm certain that I will return to Asia by next year. I miss my grandmother. I want to spend time with her before she dies. I want to speak Mandarin, even if that means fumbling around in my limited vocabulary. I want to go back to Cambodia. Maybe for the closure I never got the first time. Maybe to find out if I could move there for a few years. Maybe to find out if what I love was in what I had or what is always there in the rice fields, in the smiles of the village children, in Cambodia's past and future.

Hmmm.